Don't Call Me Weasel!
by Jedi Tess of Gryffindor
Summary: A D/G fic for all you excitable fans out there. It's another hospital wing fic. Nothing terribly creative. Having said that, enjoy! COMPLETE! pre-OOTP
1. Weasel and Ferret Boy

Don't Call Me Weasel! By Jedi Tess of Gryffindor  
  
Summary: Wow, I've suddenly begun submitting stuff! What a novelty (for me, at least). Anywho, here's a Ginny/Draco fic for ya. Basically, Ginny gets ill and coincidentally (or otherwise) gets Draco sick as well.  
  
Disclaimer: Why bother? We all know who the HP characters/books don't belong to *heavy sigh*. And I can't think of any characters in here that are mine, either. Only the plot.  
  
A/N: I'm an extremely busy person, but hopefully I'll be able to keep up weekly updates for ya. And while I enjoy encouragement in the form or reviews and such, I won't stop write just because I don't get as many reviews as I want. As I've said many times, I WRITE FOR ME! ESCRIBO PARA MI!!!!! So anywho, I see reviewing as a courtesy, not an ultimatum, as it were.  
  
Enough babble . . . enjoy!  
  
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"AH-choo!" Ginny Weasely sneezed violently.  
  
"Gin, don't you think you ought to go to Madam Pomphrey or something?" Harry Potter asked in concern. He, Ron Weasely, and Hermoine Granger were walking toward the Great Hall with her for lunch. She had been coughing and sneezing almost non-stop since breakfast.  
  
Ginny blushed, mentally kicking herself. She was over him! Over, over, over! She had promised herself that her sixth year would be gigantic-crush- on-The-Boy-Who-Lived free.  
  
"Nope, I'm fine," she assured him, smiling in what she knew must have been a bleary way. In fact, she wasn't feeling well at all. "Allergies, I guess."  
  
"But you don't have any," Ron said suspiciously. Hermoine, whose hand was clasped in Ron's, looked thoughtful.  
  
"How long ago was that Muggle Studies field trip, Gin?" she asked slowly, looking at the young redhead speculatively. Ginny sighed.  
  
"Two weeks ago - " she broke off, coughing violently. The Dream Team had stopped and watched Ginny with concern. She looked back. Her eyelids felt heavy and she was suddenly sleepy.  
  
"What?" she demanded thickly. Harry had raised his hand and pressed it to her forehead and Ginny knew she was blushing again.  
  
"Think you've got a bit of a fever, Gin," he said sympathetically, with an adorably anxious expression. "You've probably got a cold. Bet you got it from a Muggle when you were in London. You really should see Madam Pomphrey. I'll walk you up there."  
  
"No, no, I'm alright," she said quickly, but firmly. While she had promised herself she would get over Harry if it killed her, she had no qualms about avoiding him like the plague to help the getting-over process along a bit. His handsome face was almost irresistibly kissable. The bright green eyes were soft and friendly and troubled.  
  
This was yet another hindrance. Harry was a remarkable, wonderful guy. He was so good and kind and generous and brave that Ginny really couldn't be mad at him for treating her in an affectionate, but elder brotherly way. He was a good person and she couldn't really blame him for not liking her the way she desperately wanted him to.  
  
"Go on, Gin," Ron insisted. "Let Harry take you up. You look awful."  
  
"Thanks," she retorted, giving him a scathing look. Leave it to him to make her feel even plainer and uglier than usual. And Harry was there to witness it all. This happened all too frequently. She knew Ron hadn't meant it that way, but still felt resentful for his thoughtless remark.  
  
"Actually, I think I'll go back to my dorm," she said, suddenly needing an escape from their pity, which had reached sickening proportions. "I can have a bit of a lie down and maybe finish my blasted Divination assignment." She gave them a shaky smile, realizing how unwell she really felt.  
  
Ron started to object, but Hermoine said quickly, "Alright, Gin. Get some sleep. If you need anything, let us know, okay?"  
  
"Right, thanks," she said, smiling and turning away. She sighed. Hermoine was so great, she thought with a smile. Ginny had been thrilled when she had discovered that Ron and Hermoine liked each other and still more delighted when Hermoine got tired of waiting from Ron grow up and kissed him - in front of all of Gryffindor House at dinner! Ginny and Harry had had a good laugh planning their wedding.  
  
Ginny sighed, and then abruptly became conscious that her breathing was more labored than a couple of staircases should have made it. Starting to feel truly worried, she hurried up to Gryffindor Tower. She was just turning a sharp corner that led to the hall of the Fat Lady portrait where Gryffindor House was hidden, when she crashed into someone walking in the opposite direction. She hit the stone floor hard and immediately, her head began to pound.  
  
"Oh, well done, Weasel," a drawling voice said. "You know, there are charity organizations that help people like you. You know, Weasely; people who can't even afford to pay attention to where they're bloody going."  
  
She didn't need this; she really didn't. Her temples were throbbing and her throat was aching. She just wanted to go to bed. And now, she had to deal with -  
  
"Malfoy!" she hissed, trying to shake the sudden double vision from her eyes. Two Draco Malfoys were circling each other in the air before her. Why couldn't they settle down? "Fancy meeting you here. Where're your goons? You know, Malfoy? Those gits who kiss your ass so they can make sure to get those fashionable tattoos on their arms in a few years."  
  
Ginny was surprised at her own daring. If she hadn't been feeling sick as a dog, she wouldn't have had the courage. Or maybe she would have. Malfoy generally didn't speak to her, but whenever he did it was the same 'oh, let me remind you of how poor you are, in case you hadn't noticed' routine, and she was sick of it. Literally.  
  
"Oh, feisty little Weasel," he mocked, and she saw the two Malfoys resolve themselves into one as he stepped closer. She knew she should be frightened - Malfoy didn't have a bad-boy reputation for any chivalrous attributes of character (i.e. he wasn't coming toward her to help her to her feet). But she found herself climbing up on her own and boldly holding her ground; even when he pressed his entire body against hers, slipping a well-muscled arm around her waist to hold her against him. He brought mouth down to her ear.  
  
"Just remember this, girl," he whispered, his thin lips brushing her ear. "Don't mess with me. I'm way out of your league. People who go up against me go down - in the worst way. Don't do it."  
  
Ginny was quite sure she could have come up with a derisive retort, if not for the fact that she was half-frozen from his proximity to her - which she was horrified to discover she was enjoying . . . in the worst way - and the fact that she was suddenly very dizzy.  
  
Ginny fainted.  
  
  
  
Draco grinned nastily, as the girl slumped against him.  
  
"Why, Weasely, if I'd known you felt that way . . . " he frowned slightly when he noticed her head lolling against his arm. He scowled. "Weasel? Weasely! Oh, this is just fucking great!"  
  
She had fainted, damn her. Her red hair was tickling his chin and his scowl deepened when he observed it smelled pleasantly of vanilla and mint. Oh, this wasn't fair! He would just leave her there for someone else to find and get the hell out of there. Otherwise, her git of a brother and Potty would show up, think he'd done something to her, and end his life.  
  
Despite what most people thought about him, Draco harbored no illusions about the extent of his abilities. He knew his strengths and he knew his weaknesses. While he had a well-toned body and was an excellent dueler, he knew better than to assume he could take Weasely and Potter on his own. Potter was no longer a scrawny kid. He'd grown up as much as Draco had over the last couple of years. Weasely had, if possible, grown taller, but he'd filled out quite a lot as well. No, Draco wasn't about to fight them.  
  
But he also become conscious of the fact that he still held the little redheaded vixen tight against him. He snorted. He should just leave her.  
  
He didn't move.  
  
Silently cursing himself, he scooped the petite girl into his arms and headed off toward the Hospital Wing.  
  
Thankfully he didn't see Potter, Weasely, or even Granger (who seemed to be everywhere of late, especially since getting her bloody Head Girl badge. It was really quite annoying) and got to Hospital Wing unquestioned and relatively unseen.  
  
He plastered an earnest expression to his face and called politely, "Madam Pomphrey?"  
  
The nurse came bustling in, took one look at Ginny, and said curtly as she led him to a hospital bed, "What happened?"  
  
"I don't know, Ma'am," he said, smiling flakily at her. She always fell victim to his charms. It was how he'd managed to use his arm as an excuse to get the Dream Team in so much trouble their third year. "I found her in the corridor - " he paused, thinking quickly, then, " - just off the Entrance Hall. She looks really sick," he added for good measure, adopting a look of concern.  
  
"Thank you for bringing her in," the old bat said, smiling graciously at Draco. "Ten points to Slytherin."  
  
Draco smirked behind her back. Virginia's brother would blow a gasket if he found out. He threw a last glance at Ginny, who was looking quick pale, kicked himself for feeling a moment of worry, then turned and strode from the Hospital Wing.  
  
He remembered his warning to her before she fainted and grinned fierily. Oh, yes, Virginia Weasely would get hers. She had mouthed off to the wrong guy.  
  
  
  
Hours later, he lay in his four-poster bed in the Slytherin dungeons, unable to sleep. He had been plotting revenge since leaving the Hospital Wing and now had a fairly good idea what he wanted to do. The ultimate embarrassment at Hogwarts. The rare Invisible Concoction. Rather than turn the drinker invisible, it turned their clothing such.  
  
She should be back at school by tomorrow. He would just sneak up to the Hospital Wing and pore some of the draught into her water glass while she was asleep. Juvenile, perhaps, but also funny as hell.  
  
He grinned, but it was a reluctant expression. He couldn't ignore his nagging (though miniscule) conscience. Not that he'd get caught. He'd done this sort of dirty work many times. His concerns, to his horror, were for the young lady herself.  
  
He shook the thought away. Falling for a Weasely. A Weasely he barely knew, to cap it all. It was absurd, at best. He'd prove to himself he didn't fancy her if it killed him. He didn't fancy anyone. He was Draco Malfoy, for god's sake! Malfoys didn't love. Or like, even. It was an unwritten rule. They trod upon everyone else and served Dark Lords. That was it.  
  
He climbed out of bed, pulling on a black cotton zip-up sweater he'd bought at a Muggle store called The Gap during that blasted Muggle Studies class he'd been forced to take his sixth year. The damned thing was Muggle, but that didn't stop it from being incredibly comfortable.  
  
Reaching into the drawer of his nightstand, he pulled out the draught he'd procured from Snape's private storeroom and dropped it into the pocket of his black silk pajama pants. It had probably been confiscated from one of the Weasely twins. He had to hand it to them, at least. They may have been Weaselys, but they had had remarkably good taste in prank material.  
  
Ignoring the fact that he was bare-chested, except the partially zipped sweater, he slipped about of the dungeons and up to the Hospital Wing. He moved silently in his bare feet, keeping an ear opened for Filch, Mrs. Norris, or Peeves. He made it to the Hospital Wing unnoticed, however, and slipped inside.  
  
To his mild surprise, Ginny was the only patient. She lay asleep, her breathing coming in audible wheezes, even from where Draco stood. She must have really gotten something unpleasant and he wondered idly what it might be. Before he could stop himself, he thought, Hope she isn't hurting too much. He growled to himself in frustration. He wanted her to suffer, sod it all!  
  
He crossed quietly to her bedside and glanced at her nightstand. There were several goblets there and he wondered which one contained water. A look into each goblet made this fairly obvious. One contained a vile smelling potion that looked dark and lumpy. The one beside it was lime green and thick looking. The third was definitely water. It smelled of nothing and was clear.  
  
Grinning maliciously and trying his damnest not to hesitate, Draco pulled the vile from his pocket. He held it over the goblet -  
  
"What the bloody hell are you doing hear?"  
  
"Bugger!" he swore as he dropped the vile, missing the glass and shattering the tiny bottle on her nightstand. Whirling around, he could see Ginny, illuminated in a shaft of moonlight, blinking her eyes groggily. Her voice had been hoarse and he noticed that she was pale, with dark smudges under her eyes.  
  
"Damn it, Weasely!" he snapped softly, glaring viciously at her. "Look what you made me do!"  
  
"I didn't make you do bloody anything!" she retorted, pausing to sneeze violently. "I asked what you though you were doing here, you clumsy git!"  
  
"Look who's talking," he retorted. "Who ran into who earlier? Let's review. You. Who fainted and fell into whose arms? You into mine."  
  
"Alright, alright," she muttered, reaching for her water glass. "You still haven't told me what you're doing here."  
  
"Why should I tell you?" he drawled, automatically reaching over and handing her the correct goblet. He then beat his brain with an imaginary bit of metal. Stop being nice!  
  
"Because I can think of plenty of things I could do right now to get you into loads of trouble," she smirked, though the effect of the expression was somewhat lost due to her sniffling. "Like scream bloody murder and lose Slytherin lots of points for you being out of bed after curfew." She grinned evilly. "Especially if McGonagall is the first Professor on the scene."  
  
He glared at her. Who the hell did she think she was? Did she have any idea who she was dealing with?  
  
"Don't push your luck, Weasely," he growled viciously in a tone that would have made Pansy Parkinson back off. He took a step closer. She was propped against pillows and resting against the headboard of the hospital bed. He leaned so close to her their noses were brushing and leered in satisfaction when he saw the flash of alarm in her eyes.  
  
"You've been fortunate so far that I haven't been able to teach you a lesson. And don't expect me to be sidetracked by the fact you 're in stuck in a hospital bed. I'll make you sorry you ever messed with me."  
  
Now, finally, she began to look properly nervous. He knew this was as much due to his closeness to her as to his threat and he gave her a feral grin. Her next response was made in a trembling voice.  
  
"You - you know, Draco, you might not - not . . . look, I'm sick and its contagious," she stammered. "You might not want to be so close to me. Maybe - if that's alright with you."  
  
His grin widened, partly from her excuse, but mostly because he liked the way his name sounded coming from her lips. He didn't even berate himself for the thought.  
  
"Do I frighten you, Weasely?" he whispered, leaning over to trail his lips across her cheek. "Do big boys like me scare you?"  
  
"N-no, of course not," she gasped as he moved to her jaw line. "I ju - ju - just don't - " she moaned slightly as his lips found her ear. "Wha- what do you think you're doing?"  
  
"Do you like it, Weasely?" he purred, his lips running down her neck. She hissed in pleasure and let her head fall back onto the pillows behind her. Then, suddenly, she seemed to realize what he was doing and stiffened. Then, bracing her small hands against his chest, she gave him a good shove. As she was sick, it wasn't really very powerful, but he wasn't expecting it and stumbled backwards. His back hit a rolling food tray and sent it crashing into the next bed over. It made a horrific racket.  
  
Ginny gasped, hands clamping over her mouth - however, it wasn't hard to make out her stifled giggles.  
  
He knew he had to leave. But his sojourn hadn't been completely wasted.  
  
He now knew how to exact revenge on Ginny Weasely.  
  
  
  
Ginny watched quietly as Malfoy dashed - with a catlike grace, she added unconsciously - through the Hospital Wing's double doors. A moment later, Madam Pomphrey came hurrying out of her office.  
  
"For Merlin's sake, what was all that?" she demanded, moving to Ginny's bedside.  
  
"Er, I tried to get up to - " she coughed hard - "to go to the bathroom and get some water. You couldn't hear me calling you while your office door was shut, I guess. And I couldn't see, and - and I knocked into that cart thing in the dark."  
  
Madam Pomphrey gave her a suspicious look, but didn't press the issue. She merely helped a fever-weakened Ginny to the bathroom. After relieving herself and getting some water, Ginny was helped back into bed with the covers tucked comfortably around her.  
  
"Drink up," Madam Pomphrey ordered, pushing the cup of grayish goo from Ginny's nightstand into her hands. "It will put you right to sleep. There's nothing you can do to speed up your recovery except rest." And the nurse gave her a very stern glare.  
  
Plugging her nose with her fingers, Ginny gulped down a mouthful of the glue-like gip and almost gagged. However, her nose suddenly began to run and she grabbed for a tissue.  
  
Madam Pomphrey left Ginny there, blowing her nose and sneezing, with strict instructions to go straight to sleep, which the young invalid was only to grateful to oblige.  
  
The next morning, the first person to notice the feisty redhead missing at breakfast was none other than her nighttime stocker. Draco's sharp eyes were glued to the Gryffindor table all through breakfast. Where the hell was the little vixen?  
  
He didn't want to believe she was still in the hospital wing (she couldn't have been that sick . . . right?). In fact, he was so preoccupied with trying to think of where she could be that he didn't even notice how drowsy he felt, until Snape told him to stay behind in Potions that afternoon.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, is everything alright?" Snape demanded. Draco had always been a favorite with the greasy professor and they had a friendship, of sorts. Severus Snape was Draco's confidant, or as close to one as he had ever had in his life, and both benefited from their long (though occasional) discussions. Draco was able to vent quite a lot of his pent up anger at his father and his life in general, and his venting gave the double agent much- needed information about Lucious's activities concerning Voldemort.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine," Draco muttered, running a hand across his forehead and feeling cold sweat there.  
  
"You don't look it," his mentor said bluntly. "You're flushed and you're shaking. I don't want my best student ill during midterms. Drop by and have Pomphrey take a look at you before your next lesson. I'll excuse your absences."  
  
Draco didn't bother arguing; partially because he knew it was a lost cause - Snape would stun him and carry him if he didn't agree to go himself - but mostly because he felt like a bloody sandbag in a rainstorm.  
  
He arrived in the Hospital Wing shortly before his vision began to blur. Madam Pomphrey rolled her eyes at him and led him silently to a bed. She felt his forehead as he settled into the comfortable mattress.  
  
"Pneumonia, like Miss Weasely. Muggle virus. You're burning up with fever," she scolded, as though it were his fault. "Probably caught it when you brought her in yesterday. Poor dear. You'll both be in here for at least another week. I have to quarantine you both until you get well or half the castle will be holed up in here." And she bustled off. He heard her office door close, then a new voice.  
  
"I told you I was contagious, you stupid prat," the voice was almost gleeful, even if it was nasally.  
  
"Shut your sodding pie hole, Weasel," was the best retort he could come up with before succumbing to merciful unconsciousness.  
  
He had a strange dream.  
  
He was standing by the lake, under a monstrous weeping willow. The sun was just setting behind the horizon. Ginny Weasely stood beside him in a white dress, her red hair flowing around her. A veil obscured her face. He turned to face her, taking her delicate hands in his slender ones.  
  
"I love you, Virginia," he sighed. Sweat beaded his brow, but he ignored it. He reached out to draw the veil away from her face. But it wasn't Ginny. It was -  
  
He was suddenly jolted out of his dream. He didn't open his eyes. The sweat was still there.  
  
No, it wasn't sweat. It was water. He could feel someone pressing a wonderfully cold cloth to his burning cheek. He shivered, despite the thick white duvet covering him. Although his face burned as though it were on fire, his body felt frozen.  
  
"What are you doing?" he whispered hoarsely, though he didn't want the gentle hands to leave his scorching face. They couldn't have been Pomphrey's fingers. Hers were plump and smooth.  
  
"It's what my mum did for Harry once when he came to our house with a cold," Ginny's voice greeted him. If he hadn't been very ill, he would have been desperately embarrassed to be seen like this. But in his current state, he couldn't think of anyone else he wanted to have care for him. Later, he would remember thinking that and become quite angry with himself. For the moment, the thought passed unnoticed.  
  
"It feels good," he murmured, his throat very dry. "Don't stop."  
  
She didn't. They sat (and lay) in silence, except the drip of the washcloth and the occasional cough or sneeze from one of them.  
  
Finally, Draco remembered that she was an invalid, too.  
  
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked, opening his eyes at last. His vision was no longer hazy and he could see her through the dark wing. She was wrapped in her own duvet and sitting in a chair beside his bed. Her hair was mussed from sleep and she had the same dark smudges under her eyes as she had the day before.  
  
"I couldn't fall asleep," she confessed, pressing the washcloth to his forehead. "And besides, it's my fault your sick."  
  
He grinned blearily.  
  
"Not really," he conceded (another thing he'd be sorry for later). "I'm the one who got in your face. I shoulda listened when you told me to back off." He managed a leer, in spite of a sneeze. "Not that you were telling me off for my own health."  
  
Through her fever flush, he was sure he saw her redden.  
  
"You were coming on to me," she snapped, though without much venom. "Of course I wanted you to go away." He felt a jolt of disappointment.  
  
"Don't you like me, Virginia?" he demanded, staring up into her eyes with a sincerely hurt expression.  
  
"You've never given me a reason to," she retorted, dipping the washcloth into the basin and squeezing it out.  
  
"What if I did?" he persisted.  
  
"You don't know what you're saying," she whispered, draping the washcloth across his eyes and forcing him to shut them. "You'll take it all back once your fever breaks."  
  
He heard the scrape of a chair against the floor as she got to her feet. Impulsively he reached out his hand, thinking almost dreamily, I must be delirious.  
  
"Stay with me," he begged, feeling his hand connect with hers and grabbing hold firmly. "Until I fall asleep." He heard a quick intake of breath, then a pause.  
  
"Alright," she said, and he heard her return to her chair. He still gripped her hand. "But I think you'll regret all this in the morning."  
  
"Probably, but I don't care," he smiled weakly. "Yay for delirium. Who needs sanity, anyway?"  
  
She laughed, then coughed hard for a moment. Finally, he felt her hand pull the cloth from his eyelids and heard her dip it into the water basin.  
  
"Just use your hands," he mumbled. He could feel her pause, then the gentle touch of her fingers stroking his forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids.  
  
"Thank you, Weasel," he muttered. The last thing he heard before dropping back to sleep was a grumbling,  
  
"Don't call me Weasel."  
  
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Hope you all enjoyed that. I love writing this sort of stuff! I'll try, like I said, to keep up a weekly update. I won't keep you waiting too long, I promise. Feel free to get pissed at me if I do!  
  
Loves! 


	2. The Fiery Goddess, or The Necessity of C...

Don't Call Me Weasel! By Jedi Tess of Gryffindor  
  
Well, folks, here's Chapter 2 (finally!). Sorry, first the site was down for various commendable causes, then I had some last minute stuff to work through. Anyway, hope ya like it. I'm satisfied and that's enough for me. Chow, dahlings!  
  
Disclaimer: I've decided to be creative and have a new disclaimer for every chapter. In this one I would like to mention that I hate my mother. It has to relevance to what I'm supposed to put here, but I thought I'd add it just the same! Anywho, I've decided to embrace acceptance that I don't own anything I'm writing. Feel the zen . . . yeah, I think it sucks! I wanna own something cool! Grrr . . . .  
  
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The next morning, Ginny awoke to the sound of people speaking in low voices and an irritatingly bright light across her lidded eyes.  
  
"Ugh!" she muttered foggily.  
  
"Oh, good, you're awake," Hermoine's voice said in relief. "We were so worried when we heard you were in the Hospital Wing. Want some breakfast?"  
  
Slowly, Ginny opened her eyes, and then snapped them shut when the sunlight streaming through the window across from her bed nearly blinded her.  
  
"Someone turn the light out," she hissed, still half-asleep and feeling very unwell. Her throat felt stuffed with steel wool and she was suddenly very overheated. She thrashed about a bit until her thick blanket fell away. Then she heard a snort of laughter from Ron.  
  
"Shut up," she grumbled.  
  
"So how're you feeling this morning, Gin?" came the most unwelcome voice of Harry. God, she must look a mess! Thankfully, she was too tired and feeling too "blah" to care as much as she normally would have.  
  
"Thirsty," was all she said. The light plaguing her eyes had faded and when she opened them - albeit cautiously - a second time. The curtains were drawn over the windows; the room was lit only by candles. Hermoine slid her arm behind Ginny's back and helped her sit up against the headboard, backing away in time to avoid being ferociously coughed on. She took a cup filled with clear liquid from the bedside table and pressed it to Ginny's parched lips. The exhausted redhead sipped gratefully, ignoring the dull ache in her throat every time she swallowed.  
  
"Madam Pomphrey told us you had pneumonia," Harry said softly, his expression compassionate. "Sounds lousy."  
  
She sighed. "It is. I've never had a Muggle illness before. It's retched!" She was feeling a bit more awake now and was very appreciative of their company. Being sick made her clingy. She frowned suddenly, causing a loud sneeze.  
  
"You shouldn't be here," she pointed out. "I'm very contagious."  
  
"It's okay," Ron assured her from his seat on the other side of her bed. "Madam P put a half-hour immunity charm on us. We're fine. We've still got fifteen minutes."  
  
"Madam Pomphrey gave me a book to read up on Muggle home remedies for respiratory infections," Hermoine said, cheerily, producing a monstrous book from her already bulging backpack. "It says here that it's really important to maintain a healthy diet, but don't eat anything that doesn't slide down easily."  
  
"We went to the kitchens to ask Dobby if he had anything good," Harry put in, smiling in amusement. He picked up a tray that had gone unnoticed by Ginny until now. It was piled with several pieces of toast, a bowl of rich mashed potatoes, several drinks, several bananas, and a bowl of Neapolitan ice cream. Ginny's eyebrows rose.  
  
"We forgot to tell them we needed breakfast food," Ron explained with a grin. "And they went to so much trouble, we decided you wouldn't give a damn as long as it was edible, soft, and yummy."  
  
"Thanks," Ginny said, and meant it. While Hermoine spoon-fed her - Ginny didn't need it, but Hermoine insisted anyway - 'don't expend energy needlessly! It says so on page 298' - she, with the help of Ron and Harry told Ginny what she had missed the day before. There wasn't much, really, but it was so nice to have someone to talk to and even nicer - for once - to be babied, that Ginny didn't mind the lack of interesting events. At least she hadn't missed anything, except a notice about a Hogsmeade weekend in two weeks.  
  
"By the way, Gin, have you seen Malfoy around?" Ron asked suddenly. "He was in Potions, and then he disappeared right before Care of Magical Creatures. Not that we're complaining or anything," he added hastily, "we were just wondering where the slimy git slithered off to." Harry snorted.  
  
Ginny couldn't help grinning. "He's been in here since yesterday afternoon."  
  
Ron stared. "What? Why?"  
  
"Let's just say that he stuck his nose quite where it wasn't wanted and is now sicker than I am, as a result," Ginny smirked in satisfaction, all guilt from the previous evening vanishing. Finally, she realized, she had gotten to Draco and he couldn't do anything about it!  
  
Ron and Harry burst out laughing. Hermoine tutted at them but failed to hide a grin.  
  
"How'd you do it, Gin?" Harry asked, leaning forward eagerly.  
  
Ginny paused. She wasn't sure she wanted them to know about his visit the night before last or her taking care of him last night. She still wasn't sure why she had done that and thinking about what he had said to her made her feel distinctly uncomfortable.  
  
"Um - he was in here cleaning out bedpans for detention and started been a prat to me and I guess Madam Pomphrey didn't think to give him an immunity charm," she lied quickly.  
  
Ron and Harry seemed to buy this and were even more amused at the thought of Draco cleaning out bedpans by hand. Hermoine, however, gave her a shrewd, probing look that said she'd want more details later. Ginny gulped.  
  
Finally, after Ginny had finished her bizarre but tasty breakfast, Madam Pomphrey came to shoe the three elder students out of the infirmary, assuring them that they would be sick themselves if they stayed any longer.  
  
"Take care, Gin," Hermoine called. "I'll be back to check in on you later."  
  
"Thanks, 'Moine," Ginny returned hoarsely. Her throat was really beginning to ache and she felt sticky and exhausted. Still, it was nice to have friends like Hermoine and Harry; and, however irritating it was that Ron often tried to control her life, she really did love him.  
  
"Must be nice to have your own pep squad," a drawling voice came from the bed across the wing from her. The curtains were drawn - probably the reason Ron and Harry hadn't spotted Draco before - but she knew his voice anywhere.  
  
"Jealous, are you?" she retorted with a sneeze. She took a long drink of water. "Feeling lonely without your cronies and your girlfriends? Notice they haven't come to pay their respects." She put particular emphasis on the plural of the last word. It was much easier to put her not inconsiderable wits to work on him when he was across the room and hidden from view, rather than bearing down on her like a jungle cat to bloody meat. The thought of the egotistical, self-assured, and dignified Draco tearing animal flesh from the bones with blood oozing everywhere made her giggle.  
  
Draco snorted, the effect somewhat lost in a hacking cough.  
  
"Unlike a certain Gryff I could mention, but won't, I don't need to be protected from people I'm afraid of," he returned coolly, and Ginny could almost picture the sneer twisting his delicate features.  
  
"I'm not afraid of you!" Ginny growled, squeezing her water goblet so hard it might have shattered. Later, of course, she would come up with about a hundred more appropriate retorts, such as, "Funny, I could have sworn you used Crabbe and Goyle for more than their dashing good looks," or, "Funny, Malfoy, weren't your little cronies supposed to protect you from getting turned into a ferret? No wonder you don't bother with them anymore." However, Ginny was angry and none of her scathing rejoinders jumped to mind.  
  
"Whatever, Weasel," Draco snorted. "It's okay, really. That's one less girl to keep off my back."  
  
"Don't flatter yourself, Ferret Boy," she snapped. "I can't see why anyone would bother with you anyway."  
  
"No, you wouldn't, would you?" he returned, his voice infuriatingly calm. "It's called good taste, Weasely. Get some."  
  
"Fuck off," she muttered, so angry her brain seemed to have gone on holiday to escape the heat. When she had taken quite a few calming breaths, she voiced a question that had been on her mind since her first year.  
  
"Why can't you be nice?" she demanded, glaring across the Hospital Wing at the curtains shrouding Draco's bed. To her surprise, a sharp - if scratchy - bark of laughter met her inquiry, followed - not really surprisingly - by a sharp cough and sneeze.  
  
"Be nice?" he enunciated thickly, as though trying to be sure that was what she had asked. "What do I look like, a bloody Hufflepuff?"  
  
"You did last night," she ventured, feeling her angry seeping away as the thought of his behavior brought an irresistible curiosity in its wake.  
  
Sudden silence greeted her for several seconds and Ginny knew she'd struck a nerve. Her interest peaked by the pointed lack of any quick-witted comeback, Ginny tried again.  
  
"Well, Malfoy?" she persisted. "Was it all talk?"  
  
Still no response. Fine, he was opting for the 'ignore her and she'll vanish' routine. Worked with some people, perhaps, but Ginny Weasely did not fancy being ignored.  
  
Taking a final gulp of water and blowing her nose, she stood up carefully. Trying to ignore the wave of dizziness that swept over her, she pulled her blanket with her and crept across the Hospital Wing to the curtained residence in which Draco had veiled himself. Tentatively, she reached out and pulled the drapes aside. All she could see was a ball of white linen and duvet cover. Had a section of the jumble not been rising and falling rhythmically, Ginny might have been convinced that he had abandoned the Wing entirely, for the eerie silence was deafening.  
  
"I know you're in there, Malfoy," she quipped. "Hiding from a girl, are you? Don't worry, I won't hurt you. It was just a question." She waited.  
  
After a few moments of silence, she got impatient.  
  
"Look, Draco, I'll turn around so you can put some make-up on - god forbid you should appear human for any bloody reason - but I will talk to you so you might as well give up and come up for air." His response being silence once again, she added sweetly, "Just remember, you don't have to be afraid of looking sick and disgusting in front of me, cuz I reckon you look like that all the time anyway."  
  
The barb about his vanity seemed to have upset the blonde boy, because his tousled - yet still terribly attractive - head appeared over the top of the blankets.  
  
"Take your own advice and fuck off, Weasel," he snapped, glaring at her.  
  
"I don't think I will," she said, once again astounding herself with her own audacity. But then, she had the advantage. Draco didn't look as though he could have sat up without help. Seized with a cruel idea, Ginny crossed to his bed and seated herself at the end, relieved to be sitting again.  
  
"What the hell?" Draco muttered without much conviction.  
  
"Mind if I join you?" she asked cheerfully, not even deflated by the three violent sneezes that followed.  
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do!" he glowered as best he could at her. "Get away from me."  
  
"How 'bout I stay here and keep you company?" she offered wickedly.  
  
"How 'bout you get your sorry ass off my bed?" he retorted venomously.  
  
"Nope, I think I like it right here," she said casually, noting with delight that he was forced the bend his legs to keep them from getting sat on. Another fiendish idea occurred to her.  
  
"Anyway," she continued, crawling over him and snatching one of his pillows, "you're not really in a position to remove me, are you?" She saw his already pink cheeks turn almost red in fury, mostly because he knew she was right.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked in defeat, resting his head on his remaining pillows.  
  
"I want to know," she coughed, "why you said all that last night."  
  
"All what?"  
  
"Don't play dumb. You asked me to stay with you."  
  
"I don't remember anything."  
  
"Liar. Why did you ask me to stay?"  
  
"Maybe I thought that if you didn't get any sleep you'd get sicker," he shot back, but to Ginny's ears, the response sounded desperate.  
  
"No, I don't think so," she said, reclining against her stolen pillow and pulling her blanket around her as a fever chill stole over her. "You weren't being a git, for once. You weren't smirking. You were - pleading."  
  
His head appeared again, along with his -bare; oh horror, he was incredibly hot! - chest and shoulders as he propped himself on his elbows with difficulty.  
  
"Get this, little girl," he hissed, looking almost as dangerous as usual. "I don't plead, right? It's just not something I do. And let me tell you, I've had plenty of times that definitely did not involve you where pleading would have been perfectly reasonable."  
  
Something indescribable in his expression gave Ginny paused. His muscular chest momentarily forgotten, she looked into his stormy gray eyes, caught up in the tormented emotions she found there. No longer interested in teasing or bothering him, she slid quietly off the bed and moved to pass through the hangings.  
  
Turning just in front of the opening, she said softly, "I'm sorry, Draco." Then she went back to her own bed, where she lay in a troubled frame of mind until she finally dozed, hoping to sleep off her returning fever.  
  
  
  
Draco watched Ginny slip out of his bed and cross to her own, letting the hangings fall behind her. He told himself that he was glad to see her go, but he knew he wasn't. He knew he was just denying the inevitable attraction he had been forming for the little redhead since their collision near the West Tower two days ago.  
  
Perhaps that was why he really wanted her gone. He didn't want to fancy her and he was clinging to the rapidly fading hope that ignoring and insulting her would make her less desirable.  
  
If he had actually believed that might work, he would have been more naïve than she. He was as well impressed by his words last night as she apparently had been. He had asked her to stay and put him to sleep. He had admitted to not wanting to be left alone.  
  
"Weakness," he muttered wrathfully to himself. Draco Malfoy did not have any! The way he had grown up had insured an iron hard shell of what some would call bravery. But Draco knew it to be mere reflex. The more he screamed, and begged, and pleaded, the more heavily he was punished.  
  
Allowances must often be made for people like Draco, my friends. He knew little of love and friends. He had never had a shoulder to lean on in his life. He didn't know the meaning of the word 'trust'. No one had bothered to stop and notice the lost boy, mainly because the boy in question had shunned them or sent them on their way much worse for wear.  
  
Deep down, Draco knew something was wrong. Frustration with himself was the chief cause of his nastiness to others. The capability to be a good, strong man was there. It would, unfortunately, take a dedicated will to break his. And where to find such a will . . .  
  
  
  
Draco must have dozed off, for when he awoke again the Hospital Wing was dark. Moonlight shown through the open - open? - window beside his bed. The hangings surrounding his corner of the Wing had been pulled back, revealing his somewhat diminished self to anyone who cared to come have a good laugh.  
  
Too tired to pull them back, he relaxed against his pillows, delighting in the fact that his body temperature seemed to have returned to normal. He pushed back the sheets and let the cool night air blow over his chest.  
  
"Draco?" the voice made him start. Pushing himself onto his elbows and feelings a by now familiar itch in his throat, he swallowed with difficulty and looked across the Hospital Wing toward the source of the speech.  
  
Unsurprisingly, its originator was Ginny Weasely. Oddly enough, she was sitting on the edge of her bed with her feet swinging. Her profile looked pale and ethereal in the beam of night light pouring through the open casement and splashing over her. Her hair glistened waiflike and the duvet that covered her seemed more like an elegant cloak than a blanket.  
  
"What's wrong, Draco?" she asked softly, her voice slightly horse.  
  
"Nothing," he heard himself murmur roughly.  
  
"Please tell me," she begged, her voice echoing in the unnatural silence of the wing. "Please. You can tell me anything, you know. Let me help you."  
  
She stood, almost as though moving in slow-motion. She let the duvet fall onto the bed behind her and moved with a catlike grace to his bedside. Her nightgown fluttered around her, her hair billowing out in a diaphanous cloud of red and gold. She resembled a fiery goddess from the ancient wizarding world that he'd read about in one of his History of Magic books.  
  
She stopped beside him, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek. She smiled, her face glowing.  
  
"We don't have to fight, you know," she reasoned, seating herself on the edge of his bed, her expression kind and compassionate. Her hands ran gently over his cheeks, his neck, his hair. He couldn't speak. She continued.  
  
"Tell me, Draco," she whispered, leaning forward so their lips were mere centimeters apart. "Tell me everything." But before he could, she was kissing him.  
  
Draco had kissed many girls in his life and rarely thought anything of it. He hadn't needed a reason. He had just sort of done it, without a second thought. His kiss was rarely a gentle one, either. It was as harsh and cold as his heart, often drawing blood. But with Ginny, he could feel her innocence, could feel her vulnerability. He was painfully gentle - and he was scared. Scared of the power he had over her. Power that was so tempting to exploit.  
  
He pulled away, hoping she would understand. She did. She gave him an approving look.  
  
"I trust you," she said softly, before pulling back the sheet and climbing into bed next to him. He should have been surprised. Should have been completely blown out of the water. But he wasn't. And he wasn't in any doubt of what to do. He simply pull her to him, his arms around her waist, and rested her head on his chest. They molded together perfectly.  
  
Sickness entirely forgotten, they shared a final kiss and Ginny sighed sweetly.  
  
"Now tell me, you stubborn prat," she kidded, her head pressed into the nape of his neck. But for the first time in his life, Draco wasn't interested in himself. He wanted to ignore his very existence and focus on the beautiful young woman in his arms. He wanted to know Virginia Weasely. Wanted to know everything about her; her happiest moment, her deepest sorrow, her family, her friends - everything.  
  
  
  
Draco snapped awake as though his brain had been shot by a large rubber band. It smarted for a few moments while he caught his bearings. It was no longer the middle of the night. The room was still lit by the natural light through the windows. His hangings were still pulled securely around his bed and he shivered with cold.  
  
He opened his eyes. Ginny wasn't in his bed with him. There was no indication that she ever had been.  
  
Draco took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and bellowed at the top of his lunges for a cold shower.  
  
__________________  
  
Wow, look at that skill. It's only been five days and I've been working from 8-5:30 every day this week! Yay for Tessy! Repeat after me: Yay - For - Tessy! I'm beginning to get attached to this story, so I'll try to keep it consistent. I know this isn't as long as the last one. This story was intended to be a one parter. And FYI: no idea where it's going. All I know is that it will last only as long as Ginny and Draco are stuck in the Hospital Wing together, with an epilogue possible at the end (well, duh it's at the end. That's why it's called an epilogue! God, I'm dumb!). That should be at least three more chapters. I'm not used to posting chapter by chapter, since I can rarely finish a long story. I SWEAR I WILL FINISH THIS ONE! Have no fear -Tessy is here!  
  
Right, I'm done. Loves! 


	3. I'll Bite YOUR Tongue, or Don't Tempt Me...

Don't Call Me Weasel! By Jedi Tess of Gryffindor  
  
Yay for Tessy! Chapter 3 's up and running. I is so speedy! And I would like to apologize to all those who have read Douglas Adams. I did some almost unnoticeable, but rather direct quoting of his fabulous sentence structure in here. Don't freak out, I was just offering my confession in advance.  
  
Disclaimer: This is mine, all mine! Actually, I'm a liar. It will be mine, all mine - just as soon as I learn how to get around the infamous copyright infringement laws! Which will be never, so forget it. And I'd like to add that anything of Mr. Adams' that I may have 'borrowed' is his (um, DUH!).  
  
__________________________  
  
The sound of someone yelling jolted Ginny out of a light slumber. Her eyes snapped open and she hissed once again as the light of what she soon discovered to be the setting sun blinded her. Groaning, she closed her eyes tightly. Trembling and feeling very sick indeed, she slid deeper beneath her soft bedclothes. She could hear voices across the Hospital Wing and strained her ears to listen.  
  
"What on earth do you mean, a cold shower?" demanded Madam Pomphrey's sharp voice. "You're fever is at least 103, boy! Exposing your body to low temperatures will only raise your fever and possibly shock you."  
  
"Shock is good," Ginny could just imagine Draco's incensed expression. "Look, woman, I don't care of I die! I want cold and I want it now!"  
  
"A washcloth is all I will permit, Mr. Malfoy," the stubborn nurse insisted, obviously not understanding what he was on about. Ginny could just make out a wet plop and a sharp gasp.  
  
"That washcloth is enchanted to stay cold and moist for at least another hour. Just holler when you need another," Madam Pomphrey said huffily and her footsteps echoed as she returned to her office. The instant the door slammed, Ginny giggled.  
  
"Damn that crone!" Draco shouted hoarsely. "Can't get a sodding thing in this place!"  
  
"What's up your - er, mind?" Ginny called, her eyes still closed.  
  
"Merlin, I am surrounded by bloody morons," he ranted, either not hearing her question or choosing to include her in that august assembly.  
  
"What do you want a cold shower for?" Ginny giggled again. She wasn't nearly as innocent as everything seemed to think her.  
  
"What do you keep asking me stupid questions for?" came the reply. "Bite your tongue, Weasel."  
  
"Don't call me Weasel; or maybe I'll bite your tongue instead," she said wickedly.  
  
"What?" was the articulate response.  
  
"God, I was joking, Malfoy," she laughed roughly, coughing and reaching for her water goblet.  
  
"You know, that whole façade of childish innocence you put on may be a front," he said thoughtfully. "But you do not want to suggest things like that to me unless you mean them. Do I look naïve? Do I look like bloody Colin Creevy?"  
  
"Don't think you want me answer that," she returned, not in the least intimidated by his threats. "Why a cold shower? Who, exactly, were you dreaming about?"  
  
"Oh, did your mummy tell you about the birds and the bees, you big girl you?" he taunted.  
  
"I'm not a baby, Malfoy!" she snapped, unable to keep her temper in spite of valiant efforts in that direction.  
  
"Prove it," he drawled, clearly delighted at having gotten her worked up. For a brief moment, Ginny was tempted. But then a better - and far more appealing - idea entered her enraged conscience.  
  
"Fine," she said softly, throwing off her sheets. From the abrupt silence that answered her, she could guess just how astounded Draco was that she had taken him up on his provocation, instead of getting huffy and leaving it at that.  
  
Boy, did he have another thing coming.  
  
It took Ginny a bit longer than her last sojourn across the Wing, as her fever was again on the rise, but her rage and determination to wipe the smirk from Draco's face made the trip a lot easier. She pushed her drapes out of the way and stepped into his corner of the Wing.  
  
She didn't gasp, though it was a close thing, at the sight that met her. Draco was sprawled atop his bedclothes in a pair of flannel pajama pants; quite different from those he had worn on his first visit to the Wing. His bare and well muscled - understatement of the year, Ginny thought - chest, torso, and arms lay like eye candy before her. They looked not so much thrown as arranged for a photo shoot, but the effect was the same.  
  
Rather than deterring her, however, the fact that he could appear almost divinely sexy, even with pneumonia, only served to raise her dander.  
  
Moving with new resolution, she stalked to his bedside. He grinned up at her. Due to the washcloth over his eyes, he couldn't really see her - which, Ginny decided, was to her advantage.  
  
"Your timing's horrible," he sneered. "I'm afraid I just don't have that kind of energy at the moment - "  
  
His words were cut short by Ginny drawing back her hand and slapping his face as hard as she could - which was with considerable strength. His head snapped sideways, though the rest of him remained stationary, and remained turned. Then Ginny leaned down so her face and his upturned ear were inches apart.  
  
"How does it feel to be on the receiving end? Bite - me - Malfoy," she hissed, her blood boiling. Deliberately, she turned away and walked quietly back to her own bed. Crawling into it was a relief and she sank gratefully into the sheets. She closed her eyes against the dwindling illumination of twilight, sighing in satisfaction.  
  
Feeling suddenly peaceful, she allowed herself to slide back to sleep, curled into a ball. The guilt would set in soon enough. She might as well enjoy herself until that happened.  
  
  
  
When she awoke again, it was with a soft yelp of terror. Her dream, so vividly clear in her mind's eye, took several seconds to fade completely.  
  
Shaking her head to clear it, she sat up cautiously, trying to slow her heart and breath. She felt drained and terrified and was quite certain that her fever had risen again. She could feel cold sweat on her forehead. She also became aware of a horrible chill coursing through her weakened body. Another worked its way up her spine as the images of the particularly graphic nightmare faded into vague sensory perceptions within her subconscious.  
  
The fear ebbing a bit, Ginny looked cautiously around the Hospital Wing. All the windows were tightly closed and it was quiet. The stillness of the room made Ginny nervous. The shadows that draped the Wing in semi-darkness seemed like the little monsters that used to live under Ginny's bed when she was five.  
  
There had, in fact, been three of them - however, after Ginny coming to sleep in his bed every night for two weeks, her brother Charlie had finally gone looking and discovered three (completely harmless) Mooncalves under her bed. The inexplicable skipping shadows on the walls of Ginny's room had been a result of the Mooncalves dancing in the moonlight that streamed through her bedroom window. It had taken a good while to fish them out, as Mooncalves are intensely shy, but Charlie had done it and set them loose to live in their usual burrows in the woods.  
  
In this instance, Ginny knew perfectly well that the motionless shadows in the Hospital Wing were just cast by the various beds and equipment scattered around, but that didn't make her feel any better. She slid a little further under her blankets and closed her eyes again.  
  
Nothing happened. She tried again.  
  
Nothing continued to happen - for about ten minutes. Her brain was too skittish to relax. If only Charlie had been there - she had always gone to him with nightmares as a child - then she could have climbed into bed with him and told him about the nightmare, which, of course, would have seemed silly to him. He would make her laugh and forget it and then take her back to her own bed and sing her to sleep. As it happened, his beautiful tenor had put Ginny to sleep almost every night until he had left home.  
  
But no Charlie was to be found and Ginny felt suddenly lonely.  
  
Her eyes continued to scan the Wing for another ten minutes, taking in the shadows cast by the chair near her bed; by Draco's nightstand, which was piled with candy -  
  
She paused, surprised. The drapes normally pulled around Draco's bed were pulled back as far as they would go. Madam Pomphrey had probably done that so that if he needed anything in the middle of the night, she could get to him easily.  
  
Ginny slid apprehensively out from under her sheets and sat up carefully. She reached for her water goblet and took a long drink, her eyes still darting around the Wing.  
  
"Ugh, I'm never gonna get to sleep," she muttered, setting her goblet down and forcing back a sneeze. Any noise making seemed dangerous. Who knew what might be lurking in the corner by the medicine cabinet, after all.  
  
She glanced across the Wing again. She could just see Draco over the top of the baseboard of his bed. He was again haphazardly sprawled across it, though now his torso was covered in the sheet, while the duvet had been thrown off entirely.  
  
The guilt that Ginny had been anticipating since she had first slapped Malfoy that evening now settled over her. She shouldn't have lost her temper. Whatever he had said, she should not have given in, as much for her own sake as his. The fact that he had that kind of control over her was infuriating! And the fact that she had hurt him nagged at her a bit.  
  
Off-handedly, the thought, Did he really mean what he said the first night he was here?, crossed her exhausted conscience. She had been thinking a lot about that night. How different he had been! Had she really been seeing delirium? Somehow, she doubted it. Was that the real Draco Malfoy? He had still been witty, but the edge of bitterness had all but vanished.  
  
Quite unexpectedly, Ginny felt tears prick her eyes. She should have been more sympathetic. She should have been asking him what made him so bitter, not harassing him about cold showers! She felt the first tears spill over her cheeks as she continued to berate herself for her own insensibility.  
  
Another unbidden image rose in her mind. The look in his eyes when he had said, "I don't plead, right? It's just not something I do. And let me tell you, I've had plenty of times that definitely did not involve you where pleading would have been perfectly reasonable."  
  
Even if she hadn't admitted it to herself at the time, she had had a pretty good idea of just what that statement meant. How could Draco respect and value others when he had no examples to follow in his home?  
  
Ginny was now astonished to find herself sobbing uncontrollably. She was sobbing for him, for all those unspoken acts of hatred he had been on the receiving end of - and in his own home! He just needed to be loved, damn it! Damn his parents for turning him into the king of ice! Though distantly aware of a part of her mind wondering why she even cared, she ignored it and focused on the poor boy in the bed across from hers.  
  
Without thinking, she climbed out of her own and crossed to him for the fourth time. The floor was icy and she shivered with cold, but the tears on her cheeks burned and all she could see was the beautiful boy before her. She reached the bed and stared down at him, her crying now silent, her tears still flowing.  
  
Reaching out a trembling hand, she brushed his cheek with her fingers. The washcloth had vanished, probably thrown off while he tossed and turned in his sleep.  
  
"Oh, Draco," she whispered huskily, "What have they done to you?"  
  
With these words, Ginny crawled onto the bed and slipped under the warm sheets, wrapping her arms around the wayward man beside her and burying her face in his chest.  
  
  
  
When Draco finally stirred awake, he felt the intense pain in his cheek almost instantly. He couldn't believe it. The bloody kid had slapped him! No one slapped a Malfoy! It was wrong - just wrong!  
  
That was when he noticed something warm across his chest and shoulder. His right arm was also tingling a bit. However, he decided to stay where he was, cozy and comfortable. After a moment, whatever it was that was keeping him warm stirred and sighed.  
  
Very carefully, Draco opened his eyes. What he got was an eyeful of auburn fluff. Glittering fluff, in fact, as sunlight was now streaming through the open casement and into the Wing. Noticing with some annoyance that his hangings had been pulled entirely aside, he was about to try and get his extremely cottony throat to function, when his sleep fogged brain suddenly decided to kick into gear.  
  
Looking down again, half with trepidation, half with excitement, he saw again the auburn hair, and attached to it was Ginny Weasely. She was stretched over his chest, holding onto him for dear life. Her head, resting on his shoulder, was arranged in such a manner that he could see her face, and he was amazed to make out the paths of teardrops - though her expression was peaceful now.  
  
She couldn't have been crying about slapping me, he thought in a daze. Still, the sight of her innocent beauty and her tearstained face served to dissipate his anger in mere seconds. She was lovely! That was all he could wrap his brain around at the moment.  
  
His own arms, which until that point had rested limply at his sides, slowly rose to encircle Ginny. Something had upset her, and Draco was exasperated to find that the feeling he was experiencing was not triumph at having gotten her into bed, but great concern for her. What had made her cry as hard as she evidently had and then come to his bed for refuge and slumber?  
  
His arms tightened a bit around her still form. Whatever it was, he would find out soon enough. But for now, she could sleep and he could enjoy her presence in a more innocent fashion - after all, the instant she awoke he would have to pretend to be the lustful bastard everyone thought him to be.  
  
He was just drifting back to sleep, hardly able to believe that he was actually holding Ginny in his arms at last (denial, he had decided, was just going to have to be a thing of the past. He wanted her, and that was that), when he heard the doors of the Hospital Wing open. He froze, eyes snapping open. He gave his panicked mind a good kick and turned his head.  
  
Oh, fuck, it said helpfully, as Granger, Weasely, and Potter strolled through the door. Thinking quickly, Draco rolled Ginny and himself over so Ginny was now directly underneath him - definitely a compromising position if they got caught.  
  
Draco had no intention of getting caught. Moving slowly now, he tucked Ginny's hair under the sheets and dragged the duvet over their heads. Unfortunately, all this sudden activity and the abrupt loss of air had awoken Ginny.  
  
"Draco, what the hell?" she gasped, though her voice was soft as her throat was probably as dry and cottony as his.  
  
"Shh!" he hissed. "Stay quiet. The Dream Team's just arrived."  
  
"Oh, shit."  
  
"Right. So if you don't want us both expelled and possibly drawn and quartered, shut up!"  
  
She closed her mouth, looking relieved.  
  
Probably thought I was going to rape her or something, Draco thought bitterly. That was one thing he would never, ever do to anyone, and he made a mental note to tell the trembling (and, in all probability, very overheated, judging by the sweat soaked hands that rested against his back) girl that at the first opportunity.  
  
Very aware (in more ways than one) of the young woman pressed against him, he tried to close his eyes and ignore her as he heard Madam Pomphrey come bustling out of her office to put immunity charms on the three.  
  
"Thanks, Madam P," Potter's voice came cheerfully.  
  
"That's fifteen minutes, you three," the nurse warned severely. "Any more than that and you'll be in here with Mr. Malfoy and Miss Weasely on a more permanent basis."  
  
He heard her heels click against the floor as she stocked back to her office.  
  
"Did she notice I was gone?" Ginny's voice was so soft he could barely hear it.  
  
"No," he mumbled. Impulsively, he reached down. Lacing their fingers, he gave the tiny hand a brief squeeze. Then he turned his attention back to more immediate matters. After another moment of listening, he heard Granger speak.  
  
"Where is she?"  
  
"What, she's gone?" Potter demanded, suddenly loosing his goody-good morning attitude. To his infinite amusement, Draco heard Ginny muttering, "God, it's not as if I've been kidnapped, Harry. Keep your shirt on."  
  
"Maybe she's in the lieu," her brother suggested.  
  
"No, the door's open," Granger pointed out. "Where could she have gone?"  
  
"Maybe Malfoy knows," came Weasely's voice, which had turned very deadly all of a sudden.  
  
"And the dung has hit the fan," Potter snorted. "Why would Gin tell Malfoy where she was going, Ron?"  
  
"Maybe he's the reason she's gone," Weasely retorted.  
  
"Oh, honestly, Ron," Granger's voice was suddenly prissier than usual. "Look at it logically. Madam Pomphrey's been watching this place like a hawk, I'm sure. And since the whole thing with - well, in third year, she's kept the Wing locked at night."  
  
"Right, so unless Malfoy's got a hippogriff, I think Gin's probably still around somewhere," Potter added, evidently trying to reassure the irate redhead. Draco didn't really understand what they were talking about (what the hell did he want with a hippogriff?), but Ginny must have had an idea, because the hand that wasn't clasped in his was covering her mouth and she was shaking slightly.  
  
"Stop giggling!" Draco hissed near her ear.  
  
"Look, I'll just ask him, Ron," Granger was saying. He heard her walk over to his bed. There was a pause.  
  
"Um, Malfoy, are you awake?"  
  
For a brief moment, Draco thought of pretending that he wasn't. But he knew that if he didn't respond, Weasely (the great prat!) would get suspicious and shake him awake, probably discovering Ginny anyway. He glanced down at Ginny and saw that her large brown eyes were very wide. He closed his own.  
  
"What, Mudblood?" he rasped from beneath the duvet, laying on the 'shove off and leave me the hell alone' with a trowel.  
  
"What did you do to my sister?" Weasely's voice was very loud and Draco hoped he would alert Madam Pomphrey's sensitive ears so she'd make them all go away.  
  
"Why would I do anything to her?" he drawled. "I feel like I've been beaten with a large mallet and I haven't moved once since I got here. Go ahead and ask Madam P if you want, Weasel."  
  
"Ron," Potter's voice was warning. "Let's go look around for her. Maybe she went back to the common room for something. You know Ginny. She's a wanderer. She probably got tired of being holed up and took a walk or something." But he, too sounded uneasy.  
  
"In which case, she's probably fainted in some hallway somewhere," Granger put in. "She's very ill. Let's go look. If we still can't find her, we'll come back here. Okay?"  
  
Good one, Draco had to hand it to the girl. She sure was tactful - even if she was a know-it-all Mudblood. Get Ginny's git of a brother to think his sister was lying dead somewhere and he'd be off.  
  
"Fine," Weasely muttered at last. "Let's go have a look around."  
  
Their footsteps retreated, the Hospital Wing door opened, and then closed.  
  
Draco poked his head out from under the blankets and looks around warily. The Wing was deserted.  
  
Then he looked down and found himself staring into the mesmerizing brown eyes of Virginia Weasely.  
  
"Er- would you mind moving, Malfoy?" she asked breathlessly. "I can't really breathe."  
  
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Ha ha! I've decided to exact a revenge of sorts against all those readers who have left cliffhangers in their stories and then proceeded to not update for three weeks. Word of the wise: DON'T DO IT! IT'S PURE EVIL! Anywho, you know me, I update fairly consistently. Expect more very soon!  
  
Note to my wonderful reviewer Lovie: is this what situation kind of what you meant in your review? God, I love farse! 


	4. And He Sang, or Filthy Bastard!

Don't Call Me Weasel! By Jedi Tess of Gryffindor  
  
I'm back after a whopping two days. God, I am so sorry! Actually, I think I'm doing pretty well. Thanks so much for the wonderfully explicit reviews! I've gotten so much helpful advice and encouragement! It's really been cool! This story's coming along and should be done fairly soon. I start school the 23rd, so it'll be finished by then.  
  
Disclaimer: I hate this. The End.  
  
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"Er - Malfoy, this is really getting uncomfortable."  
  
Draco snapped out his daze. Ginny was starting to look annoyed and more nervous by the minute. Oddly enough, this made Draco feel a bit uneasy himself. Rather than taking advantage of the small young woman, he felt the inexplicable urge to apologize profusely. He was scaring her, and for the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy wished he were as unintimidating as Neville Longbottom.  
  
"I won't hurt you, Virginia," he whispered, his eyes not leaving hers.  
  
"Please just get off, Draco," she said as softly. She was still afraid of him and trying desperately not to show it. Though he had every intention of letting her go and booting himself later, Draco couldn't seem to get his body to comply with his mind.  
  
This was the possible expletive for Ginny suddenly cupping his face in her hands and pulling his mouth to hers. Like the lips in his vivid dream (or nightmare, depending on how he looked at it), hers were soft, warm, and totally innocent. The kiss was tentative, hesitant, questioning. In other words, she didn't know what the hell she was doing or why she was doing it.  
  
All this flashed through Draco's mind in the instant that the kiss lasted, but before he could get his stunned brain to send a most important message to his mouth, telling it to kiss her back, she had pulled her mouth from his. Taking advantage of his momentary stupidity, she was able to slide out from under him and hurry back to her own bed, where she buried herself in her own sheets, reemerging only to pull her hangings around her bed before disappearing again.  
  
Three rather useless words crossed his mind.  
  
"What - the - hell?"  
  
His cold fingers reached up to his mouth to feel where her lips had touched his. He couldn't think. He couldn't begin to guess what that had been about. But it scared him.  
  
Most alarmingly, all of his carefully constructed emotional walls were cracking, teetering, crumbling - ready at the slightest provocation to tumble to the ground.  
  
She made him that weak. That unstable. That confused.  
  
"Damn," he whispered in awe, staring across the Hospital Wing at the hangings hiding her. "God damn!"  
  
Abruptly, the Hospital Wing doors flew open. Draco jumped about a foot in the air, his train of thought totally interrupted. Suddenly, his mind was back in the Wing, back to being very ill, back to his unhappy existence as 'big bad Draco'.  
  
His 'friends' had arrived.  
  
The fifteen minutes he spent listening to Pansy, Blaise, and Millicent chatter away affectedly at him, while Vince and Greg sat in stupid silence next to his bedside, were some of the worst of his life. All of his aches and pains seemed to intensify, and his level of sheer misery way steadily crawling towards the notch reading 'off the scale.'  
  
Ginny was right, he thought caustically. Some friends I've got. They hadn't come to see him because he was sick and they were concerned about him. They had come because they felt they had to.  
  
Their final departure was a considerable relief. He didn't even bother to thank them for coming. Not that he had ever thanked them for anything before, but he assumed that if they had been his friends, he would probably have had to pretend to be thankful they cared about his well being.  
  
Not that they did, really.  
  
He was half expecting - half hoping - that Ginny would make some derisive comment about Blaise's ditziness, Pansy's obvious attraction to Draco, or Crabbe's apelike face. But even after the five visitors had left, she remained silent.  
  
"Why'd you kiss me, Weasel?" he called weakly, his throat thick and rather sticky. He had hoped to provoke her into answering, but no reply came. Maybe she was asleep.  
  
Or deliberately ignoring him. He groaned and slid back down into his bedding. He felt drained. Something in his routine world was horribly askew. And that something had a name.  
  
Virginia Weasely.  
  
  
  
"Why'd you kiss me, Weasel?"  
  
The words echoed unrelentingly in her mind. Why, indeed.  
  
She would have liked to tell herself that her intention had been to surprise him into letting her go, but she wasn't in the habit of kidding herself. She knew perfectly well that she hadn't wanted to leave.  
  
But she had been afraid.  
  
Not of Draco. Though his threatening proximity when he was trying to intimidate her made her uneasy, it was more for her own sake than because he himself was scary or frightening. She knew how dangerous it was to be too close to him. It was as if all rational thought vanished. He overpowered her senses, made her want things she'd never wanted.  
  
And that wasn't the worst of it. He made her feel things that she wasn't ready - didn't want to feel yet. God, she was only sixteen! She had no business falling in lo -  
  
Ginny froze as the word skidded to a halt halfway across her train of thought. No. She couldn't - she didn't -  
  
Oh, dear.  
  
Feeling overwhelmed with this unforeseen - and unasked for - illumination, Ginny eventually sunk into a fitful sleep.  
  
When she woke again, it was to find that she was feeling much worse. Her throat now burned and felt so swollen that she couldn't swallow. Her entire body hurt, as though she had been the Bludger in a Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match.  
  
She moaned.  
  
"Well, dear," Madam Pomphrey's voice had lost it's strict edge and was very gentle. She was leaning over Ginny's bed, her hand pressed to Ginny's forehead.  
  
"I'm afraid your fever's risen," the nurse explained kindly. "You need to try to lay as still as possible. Drink some water." Ginny shook her head, moaning again. She hurt! But Madam Pomphrey pressed a cup to the young redhead's lips and she sipped. She could barely force it down.  
  
Tears of pain rose in her eyes. She wished she were at home with her mother and her favorite brother, Charlie. The only thought in her mind, in fact, was of the Burrow and how she longed to be there, being made tea and being cuddled and loved by everyone. She felt utterly alone and wretched here in the Wing.  
  
"Wanna go home," she mumbled, torturously choking back a sob of fear and agony.  
  
"I know, love," the nurse' voice was sympathetic, and she stroked Ginny's tear stained face soothingly. "Try to go to sleep. The rest will help. Sleep, my dear."  
  
And Ginny did sleep; fitfully and dreamlessly. She tossed and turned in her fever, her temperature boiling, her body ice cold. At one point, she opened her eyes (or thought she did) and saw her mother and Charlie sitting at her bedside. But when her eyes really opened, she was in the infirmary and hurting as badly as ever.  
  
"Ouch," she whispered, her throat tightening as she felt the tears of discomfort and loneliness rise to her eyes. It was as if her spirit was as ill as her body. Through her wavering vision, she saw the hospital bathed in moonlight. But now she was too exhausted to think of monsters. She wanted Charlie. Or her mum. She closed her eyes in utter despair, quite sure she would be dead by morning. She let out a sob.  
  
The next thing she knew, a warm, smooth hand was caressing her cheek. Her burning eyes opened.  
  
"Not feeling well, Weasely?" Draco sat in a chair beside her bed, wrapped in his comforter. He was leaning on the edge of her bed and his right hand was running tenderly across her wet cheeks.  
  
And his face. The expression he now wore was - what was it? The irony and cynicism were gone. The handsome features were etched with worry. Anxiety for her, she realized with a jolt of surprise.  
  
"What's up, Weasel?" he asked, running a hand over her hair. Ginny's tears, now flowing in relief, continued as she rolled onto her side. Reaching out, she took his unoccupied hand tightly, the contact wonderfully reassuring. Someone was finally taking care of her.  
  
"Do you need anything?" Draco's voice was gruff, but his eyes betrayed him. And in that moment, in that split second, Ginny felt true contentment. She knew she was at her weakest, knew that she looked a mess. But here was someone she didn't need to impress, someone she didn't have to prove anything to. For whatever reason, he accepted her as she was - for better or worse - no questions asked.  
  
And he wanted to help her. Wanted to take care of her.  
  
"Stay with me?" Ginny begged, the plead coming out in a hoarse gasp. She swallowed, whimpering in pain as knives cut into her lunges.  
  
"I'm right here, Gin," he assured her, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. And he was. He wasn't going to leave. He wasn't obligated to be anywhere else. He was there for her. And that fact was all Ginny needed.  
  
"You should probably have some water," Draco said, after Ginny had lay in silence for a few minutes before finally groaning at the pain searing her chest and throat. Slipping an arm under her back, he helped her sit up. She whimpered at the feverish pang that had every part of her body squirming in misery.  
  
"Shh, it's all right," Draco's voice murmured in her ear. "Pomphrey says you're dehydrated. Here." He held the cup to her lips and she sipped slowly. This simple action tiring her beyond all her walks to his bed put together, she leaned her head against his shoulder, breath ragged. Too tired to care what happened next, Ginny sat in silence, Draco's strength adding to her own all the while.  
  
"Thanks," she mumbled, with a little sigh, leaning heavily into him. After a moment, her eyes closed, but she could feel him slide her over a bit, then seat himself beside her on the bed. Still sitting up, she felt him shift the pillows so they were against the back board.  
  
"I think sitting up ought to keep your sinuses clear," she heard him say almost conversationally. "According to your know-it-all friend Granger, anyway." He pulled Ginny gently against his side and leaned back against the pillows. She felt her pain ease a bit. This was almost like having a brother care for her - but better, somehow. The situation was missing one bit, however.  
  
"Will you sing to me, Draco?" she begged quietly.  
  
"Sing to you?" he asked in surprise, his own voice scratchy. "Why?"  
  
"Charlie always does at home, to keep the monsters away," Ginny explained, not really knowing or caring what she was saying, just feeling the need to insure that he would be there with her until she fell asleep.  
  
"I don't see any monsters about," he argued, pulling her closer. "Don't worry, though. I'll protect you."  
  
"I know you will," she whispered. "I know you will." And she did.  
  
He was silent for a long moment. Ginny sighed, wishing she were enjoying the situation more. She simply lacked the energy.  
  
When Draco finally spoke, his voice was very soft.  
  
"What do you want me to sing?"  
  
"Don't care," Ginny muttered, distantly surprised that he had agreed at all.  
  
"Well, that's just not good enough," he teased gently. "I mean, you can't expect me to know what kind of music is soothing to you. Honestly, suppose I find the Sorting Hat's song from this year to be an ingenious lullaby?"  
  
Ginny giggled through the ache. She heard him laugh softly in return.  
  
"What songs do you know?" she asked, feeling mildly curious. She rubbed a hand across her eyes and yawned painfully.  
  
"Lots," came the unhelpful response.  
  
"Any Muggle songs?" she challenged, shifting in his arms and trying to get more comfortable (although she knew it was a wasted effort).  
  
"Promise not to tell?" he said conspiratorially. She nodded against his shoulder. "Could ruin my reputation if your brother heard about it."  
  
"Won't tell," she promised in barely more than a whispered.  
  
"I know a few," he admitted. "When I was nine, I asked my mum for voice lessons. I loved to sing and my fath - Lucious always told me that if I wanted to learn anything, I needed to do it thoroughly and properly. Probably the only piece of helpful advice he ever gave me, in fact."  
  
" 's okay, Draco," Ginny murmured, her arms tightening around him. Even through her own pain, she could feel his. The same tears she had cried for him the night before rose to her eyes, because she knew it would never be 'okay'. Not for him. Not after what he had obviously endured.  
  
"Anyway," he continued, "my mother looked everywhere for a voice teacher. Would you believe there isn't a bloody one to be found in the wizarding world?" He laughed mirthlessly. "So she asked me how badly I wanted lessons. Wanted them more than anything in the world. So she found me a Muggle near where we lived. She wasn't nearly as high minded about the whole Mudblood thing as Lucious.  
  
"So we kept it a secret. I took lessons for a year before Lucious cottoned on," his laugh was embittered once again. "My mum tried to reason with him. I mean, god, they were only fucking voice lessons!"  
  
He paused and Ginny felt his chest rise and fall rapidly. Despite her exhaustion, Ginny was wide awake. His reverie was translating into the physical pain of remembrance as he spoke. She could feel his muscles tightening.  
  
"He was upset. Said he couldn't believe that his own wife and son would consort with Mudbloods," Draco was mumbling now, anguish no longer hidden. "He killed Elli - my teacher - himself. Used the killing curse. Then he punished me."  
  
Ginny let out a quiet sob and buried her face in his bare chest. The pain she felt on his behalf hurt far more than the agony of her fever.  
  
"Bastard!" she whispered with conviction, envisioning Lucious Malfoy's head bursting into flame.  
  
"Oh, thanks," Draco said. "Glad to know I'm appreciated."  
  
Ginny let out a bizarre sob-laugh.  
  
"I meant your - I meant that ass who calls himself your dad," she corrected him, smiling slightly. He was silent for a long moment.  
  
"Sorry for asking you to sing," Ginny offered when her tears had slowed. She coughed hard and groaned miserably.  
  
"Whatever. I said I would. What do you want me to sing?" he waved the apology away as he reached over to her nightstand for her water goblet.  
  
"Do you know the band U2?" she asked, before taking a sip of water and almost gagging on it.  
  
"They're British, right?" he asked, forcing her to take another few swallows. "Yeah. Elli was a bit of a revolutionary, as far as voice teachers are concerned. She didn't teach me the technical stuff. She mainly taught me to control my voice and make it do what I wanted it to."  
  
"Do you know 'Spanish Eyes'?"  
  
"Sure," and he sang.  
  
In a little while Surely you'll be mine In a little while I'll be there In a little while This hurt will hurt no more I'll be home, love In a little while I'll be there  
  
His voice, unlike the rugged voice of U2's lead singer, was smooth and clear, only tinged with the hoarseness of illness. Ginny smiled against his shoulder, her pain forgotten as she listened in rapture to the heavenly sound coming from Draco.  
  
"More," Ginny commanded drowsily when he'd finished.  
  
"Like that, did you?" he said, some of his sarcastic confidence coming back into his tone. Ginny didn't care.  
  
"No shit, Sherlock," she retorted. "Start singing immediately!"  
  
"Anything, Milady," he smirked. And he sang.  
  
____________________  
  
There ya have it! I have a bit of trouble getting this part to work the way I wanted, but success was imminent. Sorry I took a little longer. I'm trying to keep pace faithfully. I've been overwhelmed by the response to this story! Thanks a bundle, guys! I can't believe it's been so well received. I was also overjoyed (and awe-struck and dumbfounded and rendered oblivious to the world around me and - you get the idea) to discover that one of my favorite authors had reviewed - several times! No names, but thanks so much to all of you!  
  
I shall go on. And remember - yay for Tessy! 


	5. Wake Up, Malfoy, or HE SLEPT WITH MY SIS...

Don't Call Me Weasel! By Jedi Tess of Gryffindor  
  
This bit ought to tide you over for a few days. I'm afraid this week's looking a bit busy, but I'll try to post soon. Chow, dahlings!  
  
Disclaimer: Bloody copyright wankers!  
  
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"What the bloody - "  
  
"Ron! Keep your voice down, they're sleeping."  
  
"Right! They're sleeping. The git should be sleeping in his own ruddy bed - "  
  
"Oh, Ron! This is where you'd be if you and I were stuck in here."  
  
"Well, that's different. Hermoine, he's sleeping with my sister! And he seems to have misplaced his sodding shirt!"  
  
Draco heard the voices distantly as he awoke. His mind was foggy and he felt the usual lethargy in his limbs. He didn't move; he listened. It didn't take much thought to remember where he was. He could feel Ginny snuggled against his exposed shoulder. Her breathing was even. He hoped her sodding brother would shut it before he woke Ginny up. It had taken quite a lot of singing to get the girl to sleep. She had been in a lot of pain and Draco could guess, from the feeling of her burning forehead against she chest, that she wasn't going to be much better this morning.  
  
"I noticed," he heard Granger retort. "And I don't see Gin complaining - do you?"  
  
"That's not the point," Weasely raged, though his voice was much lower.  
  
"What is the point, then?"  
  
"Would you two cut it out?" Potter's voice sounded particularly irritable.  
  
"We're just having a discussion," Weasely muttered.  
  
"You're arguing, as usual," Potter corrected. "I imagine you're looking for an excuse to find a broom closet to make up in later."  
  
"Harry!" Granger was sounding scandalized. "We would never - it's not allowed."  
  
"So about my sister," Weasely said pointedly, clearing his throat.  
  
"What about her?" Draco finally cut in, his eyes still closed. There was a moment of silence. Clearly, they hadn't suspected him of being awake. Weasely pulled it together first.  
  
"What the hell did you do to her, Malfoy?" he snarled, his voice rising.  
  
"Pipe it down," Draco snapped hoarsely, his throat very scratchy. "It took me the better part of two hours to get her to sleep last night. She needs rest."  
  
"Get her to sleep?" Weasely repeated, beginning to sound hysterical.  
  
"Calm down, Ron," Granger ordered, her voice low. "What happened, Malfoy? Is she worse?"  
  
"I'd say so, yeah," he returned coolly. "Pomphrey told her last night that her temperature had risen."  
  
"But that's not right," Granger mumbled, more to herself than to Draco. "According to Madam Pomphrey, you both have bacterial pneumonia. After three or four days of it, you should start to clear up."  
  
Now that she mentioned it, Draco realized that he was feeling a bit better. Although he throat still felt as though it had been mauled by a mad blast- ended screwt, his body temperature felt normal and he was a bit less stiff than last night.  
  
"So what 's she got, then?" Weasely demanded, his concentration clearly torn between his sister asleep on Draco, and his sister being dangerously ill.  
  
"Probably viral pneumonia," Granger suggested thoughtfully. "I read about it in '1000 Muggle Illnesses.'"  
  
"Big surprise," Draco muttered.  
  
"So what's the difference, 'Mione?" Potter asked curiously.  
  
"Well, bacterial pneumonia only lasts for about five days, doesn't it?" she said. "But viral can affect the victim for up to a year. They're only really sick for two to three weeks - "  
  
" - only half a month?" Draco said incredulously.  
  
" - but they remain susceptible to bacterial infections for the rest of the year."  
  
"Poor Gin," Potter murmured.  
  
"Excuse me," Weasely said, clearly loosing patience with his best friends. "Malfoy still hasn't explained why he's in bed with my sister!"  
  
"Why should I?" he asked calmly. "It's not really any of your business, is it, Weasel?"  
  
"Actually, I rather think it is," Weasely spoke softly, but his voice was deadly calm.  
  
"Well, bully for you," Draco snapped, loosing patience at last. "You just go on thinking that, then."  
  
There was a scuffling noise, and Draco opened his eyes in time to see Potter and Granger forcefully restraining Weasely, who looked as though he were about to throttle Draco.  
  
"Don't harm the invalids, Weasely," he drawled with a smirk. "Pomphrey wouldn't appreciate that too much."  
  
As though on cue, the nurse herself came bustling out of her office.  
  
"You three again," she said in exasperation, spotting the Dream Team almost at once. "And you don't even have immunity charms. Get out at once - " she paused as she reached the bed. Her eyes widened when she saw Ginny, still fast asleep and wheezing slightly, curled against Draco's side.  
  
"What is the meaning of this?" she hissed, her eyes narrowing shrewdly.  
  
Draco shrugged.  
  
"I woke up last night and heard her crying," he said truthfully. "Her temperature went up again, I guess, and she was really upset. So I offered to stay with her until she fell asleep. She was uncomfortable, so I sat her up so her sinuses could drain and she could have some water. I was tired and fell asleep right after she did."  
  
He gave himself a silent round of applause at the variety of looks he had conjured from his audience. Madam Pomphrey looked torn between approval at his care of Ginny and outrage at the inappropriate situation in which they had been discovered. Weasely was red as a tomato, steam practically pouring out his ears. Potter looked as though he were seeing Draco for the first time and having a hard time deciding what to make of him. Granger actually looked impressed and a bit suspicious. She was watching him closely.  
  
"Very well, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomphrey said sternly. "While your help probably did Miss Weasely some good, this behavior is totally unacceptable. And with you sick as well! You should have called me immediately. 20 points from Slytherin." She paused.  
  
"However, you are right in thinking that Miss Weasely is very ill and getting worse. I don't know how you managed to get her to sleep - "  
  
-and you never will, Draco thought scornfully.  
  
" - but I must say that you did an excellent job," she said reluctantly. "So 10 points to Slytherin. And - I'm afraid that if you move, she'll wake up," now the nurse looked very uncomfortable, "so I must ask you to stay with her until that time."  
  
"But - go on, then, Madam P!" Weasely shouted, looking purple. "You can't just leave her like that - "  
  
"I believe I am the nurse, here, Mr. Weasely," the venerable woman snapped. "Keep your voice down! As for you three - well, Miss Granger, I would think you, at least, would have more sense than to come in here without an immunity charm." Granger hung her head. "Now all three of you - out! Go on!"  
  
Weasely looked savagely at Draco before allowing Granger and a still skeptical Potter to drag him from the room.  
  
"Oh, and Miss Granger," called Madam Pomphrey as the trio reached the door. "Kindly collect Mr. Malfoy's homework for him. He's well enough to begin his school work again, I think." She threw a bad-tempered look at Draco, who ignored it and smirked at Weasely, who in turn was positively fuming. Granger merely nodded without comment or complaint and left with her friends. Madam Pomphrey turned back to Draco and tapped his forehead with her wand.  
  
"Ah. At least one of you is on the mend," she said approvingly she pulled the wand away. It shot three silver sparks into the air, which condensed into three numbers and a decimal point. "Your temperature is down to 99.5. Three more days and you should be well recovered."  
  
She went over to a cupboard with a small counter that sat at the end of the row of beds and opened it. After a moment, she heaved a large block of chocolate - probably the size of a dragon egg - onto the counter. Then she began to break off a corner with a hammer and chisel.  
  
"Eat up, lad," she ordered, handing him the sizable chunk. "It Belgium Dark. Best for recovering from traumatizing illness." After watching to see that he was eating it, she turned and walked back to her office.  
  
Draco sighed as he set the confectionery on Ginny's bedside table. It was rather difficult to swallow. Then he glanced down at the still-wheezing redhead in his arms.  
  
Her face was flushed, her breathing ragged. He didn't bother denying his sincere concern for her. If Granger was to be believed, Ginny was going to be in here a long time and was likely to get worse. Absently, he kissed the top of her head and pulled her tightly against him, as if trying to protect her. Then he closed his eyes and almost instantly fell into a dreamless sleep. He had had a very stressful morning.  
  
  
  
He awoke hours later feeling better still than he had that morning. His throat hurt less, his eyes didn't ache, and he was quite sure his fever was gone. He shifted, careful to not wake Ginny. Judging by her breathing, she was still fast asleep. He stretched his taut muscles, yawning.  
  
"Glad you're finally awake," a quiet female voice said from his right. Turning his head, he saw Granger sitting in a nearby chair, a book open in her lap.  
  
"Anything to oblige," he muttered sarcastically. "What do you want?"  
  
"Try to be civil for once, Malfoy," the girl retorted calmly. "I brought your schoolwork."  
  
"Oh, wow, thanks a bundle," he grumbled, glaring at the stack of papers also in her lap.  
  
"It's important to keep up, you know," she said. "We've got our N.E.W.T.'s this year, don't we?"  
  
"Thanks for reminding me. Is that all?" he demanded quietly, eager for her to go away.  
  
"No," she said, and he noticed that she was biting her lip.  
  
"What, then?" he asked irritably.  
  
"Well. Ginny," she began, staring at the redhead. Draco glanced down at her. Her forehead was still creased in pain lines.  
  
"What about her?" he asked.  
  
"Do you fancy her?" Granger asked bluntly. Draco stared at her in surprise. Of all the questions she might have asked, this was the last he would have expected.  
  
"Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't," he lied.  
  
"You're lying," she deduced shrewdly, eyeing him with a half smile. "I can tell. Have you told her?"  
  
"No," he muttered, without thinking. The conversation was firmly under Granger's clever little thumb. She would probably be able to dig out any information she wanted.  
  
"Why not?" she demanded.  
  
"Oh, put it together, Granger," he snapped coldly. "What would she say if she knew a monster like me thought he might like her? I can't believe I'm talking to you about this."  
  
"I can't believe it, either," she laughed, her frown easing. "But now that were on the subject . . . " he rolled his eyes, but she ignored it.  
  
"Look, Malfoy," she sighed. "I don't think someone who hated you would ask for you to stay with her to make her feel better. Do you?"  
  
"She was almost delirious from the fever," he protested. "She was probably just desperate for the company."  
  
Granger snorted.  
  
"Oh, right," she said sardonically. "You got her to stop crying and sleep for at least twelve hours straight. I doubt even Harry could have done that. And you know how she felt about him."  
  
Draco's face darkened.  
  
"Right," he grunted. "The almighty Potter. There's another minor setback, genius."  
  
"Oh, come on, Draco," she snapped, as though he was a dim-witted child. "I've seen the way she looks at you. She seems pretty happy right now, don't you think?"  
  
Draco didn't answer.  
  
"Well?" Granger said, looking at him speculatively. "When're you going to say something?"  
  
"I'm not," he said flatly.  
  
"Why not? That's hardly fair to either of you!"  
  
"Let's just say I'm saving her from herself," he returned shortly.  
  
"God, you're so thick!" she cried, throwing up her hands and slouching back in her chair. Her expression was disbelieving. "Eventually, Ginny's going to realize how she feels - if she hasn't already - and want to do something about it. That's the way she is."  
  
"Look," Draco interrupted, his voice a deadly whisper. "You may be smart, but you're also a Muggle-born," he had almost said 'Mudblood', but that didn't seem an appropriate thing to call her just now, "and a Gryff. You don't understand how Dark Wizards think. If my father heard about me falling for a Weasely, he would have a conniption. He's always been that way whenever I've had anything to do with Muggles or Muggle supporters." He paused for breath, then continued, staring levelly at Granger.  
  
"And anything that could possibly interfere with me becoming a Death Eater will be eliminated," he finished. "Always has been." He was thinking of Elli, and he blinked hard.  
  
"I'm sorry, Draco," she said, and he found that he wasn't annoyed by her compassion. He was disgusted by the fact that he appreciated it.  
  
"Anyway," he rushed on gruffly. "I can't put Ginny in that kind of danger."  
  
"Noble," Granger said, and there was a hint of sarcasm in her tone. "But it's not going to be that simple."  
  
"What do you mean?" he scoffed. "All I have to do is turn her down."  
  
"Malfoy," she said in her 'Head Girl' voice. "Haven't you learned anything about Gin in the past few days? When she wants something, she does everything in her power to make it happen. With or without your cooperation, she'll act on any affection she had for you."  
  
"No," he said desperately, involuntarily remembering her nagging about his behavior his first night in the Wing. "I can hold her off."  
  
"Don't be so sure," Granger grinned. The grin faded slowly. "Look, I've gotta run. Prefect meeting. Just remember, Malfoy, you've got two choices. You can tell her how you feel, then do your best to protect her - also remembering that she's not exactly a damsel in distress. Or you can ignore her, break her heart, and probably put her in just as much danger. Because she won't leave you alone and your father's just as likely to notice that."  
  
He opened his mouth to protest, but she jumped in.  
  
"Here's something to think about," she said, putting her book back in her bag and standing. "Harry would have my head if he knew I told you this, but I think you need some perspective."  
  
"Oh, well, anything to get Potter hacked off," Draco sneered.  
  
"Don't tell him," Granger warned. "Remember I've got some blackmail on you that would have Ron at your throat in a flash."  
  
He glared. She grinned.  
  
"Right. Here it is. Believe it or not, Lily Evans was once almost the same situation as you. Not because she was related to a Dark Wizard, but because she was a target as a Muggle-born during You-Know-Who's upraise. She knew James was head over heels for her. It was fairly obvious. And she felt the same way. But she wanted him to be safe. He was a prominent wizard, from a noble pureblood family. Voldemort wasn't targeting them yet. He wasn't strong enough. Probably hoped to get James' parents on his side.  
  
"But the Potters were very virtuous," she sighed. "They were firmly on Dumbledore's side. So was James. And he wanted Lily."  
  
"So what happened?" Draco was quite interested. This was something one didn't hear about Potter on a regular basis.  
  
"He confronted Lily, apparently," Granger smiled dreamily. "She turned him down, telling him she wasn't interested. But he knew better and kept at her. And obviously, she eventually caved."  
  
"Then they were murdered," Draco stated flatly. "How do you know about this? How does Potter? His parents died when he was one."  
  
"You're missing the point," Granger said impatiently, deftly deflecting the question and hefting her bag over her shoulder. "James knew their chances of survival weren't good, at best. But he didn't care. For the brief time they were together, they were happier than they'd ever been. And they weren't living a lie. And they had Harry. And I don't believe that death could stop that love."  
  
"Touching," Draco tried to smirk and failed. "But I'm not into the noble sacrifice stuff. Thanks."  
  
"Whatever," Granger snapped. "But remember that you're not the only variable, Malfoy. You may be afraid, but that may not matter in the end." And with that, she set his homework on Ginny's nightstand and walked away.  
  
"I'm not afraid," he called after her.  
  
"Right," she through over her shoulder. "You can't lie to yourself forever, you know."  
  
She reached the door, and paused.  
  
"By the way," she asked, not turning. "How did you get Ginny to sleep last night?"  
  
"Sang to her," Draco muttered, like a child who had been caught flying his father broom.  
  
"I see," and he could almost see her triumphant smirk. "Must admit I'm jealous. Ron's never sung to me before. How romantic!" She said this with an uncanny impression of Pansy.  
  
And Draco was once again alone.  
  
_________________  
  
Sorry about Ginny sleeping through the whole thing - lazy bum!  
  
Right, there's two in one day. Be thankful, my fiends, be amazed and thankful! No, just joking! Here's the deal. This may have to last for a few days. I'm going to be working and school visiting this week, so I might not get to my computer for a bit. But the story's around the bend and working towards the finish.  
  
NO, THERE WILL BE NO ACTION/ADVENTURE. There will be no 'noble sacrifices'. It's about choices, people. What will Draco choose? What will Ginny choose? What will Hermoine do to make things go her way? Do we really wanna know? You bet we do!  
  
Loves! 


	6. Did Malfoy Get a Booboo?, or Don't Call...

Don't Call Me Weasel! By Jedi Tess of Gryffindor  
  
I would just like to tell you all how embarrassed I am that I've been misspelling two names consistently in EVERY story I've ever written! OH THE SHAME! I'd just like to publicly acknowledge my careless blunders and tell you that it's too late to correct my errors and THIS IS THE END! Okay, maybe not, but it still causes me great humiliation. Anyway, enjoy the story. There's a bit of mush, be warned.  
  
Disclaimer: *Sigh* All characters in this story are property of J.K. Rowling. I own nothing but the plot . . . ah, who'm I kidding? DIE DIE DIE!  
  
______________________  
  
As Hermoine had guessed, Ginny did indeed have viral pneumonia. As she health continued to worsen, Draco's improved. By the following Monday, he would be ready to be released from the Hospital Wing.  
  
The intervening three days were torture for Ginny. She had all but lost her voice, and breathing was difficult. She slept as much as she could, waking only when Madam Pomphrey made her eat and drink, or she had a visit from Harry, Ron, or Hermoine. Little made it down her swollen throat.  
  
On top of all this, she had awoken the evening after Draco had sung her to sleep to find him on his side of the Wing, studiously ignoring her and working on homework. Her tears of pain while being forced to eat were overlooked in favor of Arithmancy charts. Her moans of agony in the early hours of the morning when she would awoke alone in the dark Wing were met with healthy snores.  
  
Why was he ignoring her? If he despised her so, why had he sat with her that night? These questions plagued her almost as badly as her illness and she felt she couldn't bear it. Hermoine's visits were all that sustained her as she lay hour after hour in the infirmary, which may as well have been deserted for all the bustling of the nurse and Draco's lack of communication.  
  
Ginny would have assumed that Draco had been a dream, but for Hermoine's information.  
  
"He admitted that your crying woke him up," the Head Girl told her that Friday. Though working madly to keep her grades at the top of the class (where she, Draco, and Padma Patil were neck to neck), she had gotten special permission to spend the final lesson of every day with Ginny. "You didn't dream anything, Gin."  
  
Ginny sighed. She couldn't talk to Hermoine, so if she had anything to say, she would write it down on a piece of parchment. Usually, she let Hermoine do the talking. The older girl often read to her from the more exciting of her textbooks (filled with romance, bloody battles, and goblin rebellions). Sometimes the Prophet had an article worth noting. Hermoine got particular pleasure out of quoting the much-subdued Rita Skeeter, and Ginny found her friend's glee at being the one to conquer the sharp-witted journalist quite amusing.  
  
The Hospital Wing itself, meanwhile, had been strictly quarantined. No student or teacher was allowed in for longer than an hour, and all had to have immunity charms on them. A separate, unused classroom was made over into a makeshift hospital, as Madam Pomphrey couldn't heal through an immunity charm.  
  
Ginny sighed again. She felt desperately guilty. All this trouble because she had gotten sick. And she'd made Draco sick as well. Granted, it had been his fault, but still . . .  
  
What's wrong with me? Ginny scribbled on her parchment, before handing it to Hermoine.  
  
"Nothing!" Hermoine insisted soothingly. "You know Draco."  
  
She lowered her voice, as the glowering Slytherin was sitting up in bed directly across the Wing.  
  
"He's the ultimate Slytherin. The concept of trusting someone to befriend him, or trusting himself to take care of that person as faithfully in return is terrifying." She paused, looking unsure, then plunged ahead.  
  
"I've been sworn to secrecy, more or less," she admitted, sounding a little guilty, "so I'll keep the details out. But I think you know what Lucious Malfoy's like. Imagine how Draco grew up."  
  
She paused again, staring out the window of the Wing. Then her eyes turned back to Ginny.  
  
"How do you feel about him, Gin?" she whispered. Ginny's eyes widened and she swallowed hard. It hurt a lot and she groaned. Hermoine reached for a water goblet (one of three) on Ginny's nightstand and helped her drink.  
  
Then she pointed her wand at Ginny's throat and mumbled, "Nubium."  
  
The sharp pain in the redhead's chest dulled to a throbbing ache. It was a pain-reducing spell Madam Pomphrey had taught Hermoine when she had begun visiting on a daily basis.  
  
"Might as well make yourself useful, Miss Granger," she had said crossly.  
  
When the ache had been dampened, Ginny reached for the parchment.  
  
I don't know, she wrote, I see how haunted he looks sometimes and I feel the pain as if it's my own. It makes me so sad to think what kind of life must have made him what he is. I'm seen him when he's being helpful and genuine and it's an amazing transformation.  
  
"You want to help him?" Hermoine asked. Ginny nodded, but took up her parchment.  
  
It's more than that, she scribbled, her already flushed face positively flaming.  
  
"How much more?" Hermoine asked gently. Ginny didn't respond. She stared down at her hands. Hermoine reached out her own to touch Ginny's arm.  
  
"Do you fancy him, Gin?" Hermoine said softly. Still staring determinitely down, Ginny nodded. After a moment of silence, her eyes lifted to meet her friend's brandy brown ones. Her look was imploring. Questioning. Begging for an opinion.  
  
"I think it's lovely," Hermoine assured her, smiling sweetly. "What Draco Malfoy needs is someone as loving and strong as you to take care of him. He needs to see that his cynicism about friendship and love is totally unfounded. He needs to understand."  
  
"I know," Ginny's lips formed the words, though it was a soundless comment.  
  
And she really did. But, like all things, understanding was only half the battle fought.  
  
What do I do? she wrote.  
  
Hermoine shrugged.  
  
"It's not like I've ever had to perform this sort of miracle myself," she began, before catching a look at Ginny's expression. "Sorry, I'm not trying to imply that it's impossible. I just don't know, Gin. He fancy's you already. I guess about all you can do is keep on with whatever you're doing to make him like you."  
  
And that would be . . . Ginny wrote impatiently.  
  
"Damned if I know," Hermoine muttered in frustration. "Don't get me wrong, Gin, I think you're an amazing, wonderful young woman and so do half the guys in the school. The part that dumbfounds me is how you managed to totally charm Draco Malfoy into liking you without even knowing you were doing it."  
  
Ugh, was Ginny's response.  
  
"Look, get some sleep," Hermoine commanded, taking the parchment and quill and setting them in the drawer of the bedside table. She helped Ginny take one last sip of water, then fed her some of Doctor Seuss' Sleep Easy Chocolate (he's actually a Wizard, you see. All those books that Muggle children read are really psychic self-help books carelessly discarded by St. Mungo's).  
  
Another roadblock, apart from Ginny not knowing how to augment her own 'animal magnetism' so that she was positively irresistible, was the fact that Draco had no idea how she felt. This brilliant revelation came to her at around three in the morning, when a particularly hard bout of coughing brought her awake with tears of pain already coursing down her cheeks.  
  
This isn't fair! she thought furiously. Deep thinking about things that vexed or upset her helped her take her mind off the pain until Madam Pomphrey came to check on her. If Ginny had had the use of her voice at that moment, she would have been proclaiming her love to him at the top of her lunges, just to be out with it.  
  
But it wasn't that simple. Aside from being completely mute, she was also being completely ignored by the handsome blonde. He was blocking her out, pretending she didn't exist. And that enraged Ginny. What was so bloody wrong with fancying her, anyway? She wasn't a troll, she didn't smell like dung, and she wasn't a goody-good.  
  
She was working herself up, but she couldn't help it. She was so sick of his crap!  
  
She'd show him!  
  
Gathering all her strength, Ginny reached for her bedside table drawer, within which was her wand. Withdrawing, she pointed it at his bed. It wouldn't matter anyway. He'd be gone by tomorrow.  
  
"Upturnum rubos!" she hoped mouthing the hex was good enough, because she wanted to cause some damage! Falling back onto her bed, she dropped her wand into its niche and closed the drawer, her eyes riveted on Draco's bed.  
  
It was glowing orange. For a long moment, it silently shot yellow and blue sparks in all directions. Then it turned neatly on its side and deposited its occupant none too gently onto the stone floor.  
  
For the first time, Ginny was glad she had lost her voice. She heaving with noiseless laughter as the sounds of profuse and colorful slang echoed across the Wing.  
  
"God damn, that fucking hurt! Shit! Weasely, I know that bloody - " but whatever he had been about to blame on her was lost in a pause, accompanied by a soft thump.  
  
Apparently, he had passed out.  
  
Too tired to really consider what the consequences of her actions might be, she slid blissfully back to dreamland, thoroughly pleased with herself.  
  
She was not so please when she discovered the next morning that the thump she had heard had come from his head cracking against the floor, and that his first degree concussion had subsequently added three more days to his hospital stay.  
  
The silver lining of the cloud was that Draco was now very definitely speaking to her.  
  
"I swear you'll pay dearly for this, Weasel," he had hissed the instant Madam Pomphrey had left her bedside the next morning and gone back to her office. A white strip of linen cloth had been wound around his head, and a patch of red revealed that he had in fact been lucky his concussion hadn't been more severe.  
  
She dearly wished she could have spoken to him herself, but instead let Harry, who was visiting without Ron or Hermoine (three guesses as to what they were getting up to), read her written responses aloud. This also served to annoy Draco immensely.  
  
"She says, don't call her Weasel, Mal-ferret - " it was a newly coined nickname that Ron had invented and Harry burst out laughing - "And you don't have any proof that she did it."  
  
"Who bloody else would it have been?" Draco snapped. "You were the only person in this god-forsaken place at the time."  
  
"She says - " Harry's face suddenly split into a nasty smile - "that she never said she didn't do it, either. Guess she was just rubbing in the fact that she's getting away totally clean."  
  
"Oh, sod off, Potter," Draco snarled, and Ginny saw him hands clenched as though they were around Harry's throat.  
  
"She says, 'Harry, you'd better - ' oh, wait, that's for me, isn't it?" he grinned sheepishly. "Reckon I was enjoying that too much. Yeah, I've got Divination in five minutes. Damn!" He leaned down and kissed Ginny's forehead in a brotherly sort of way. Ginny smiled in self-satisfaction when she felt content with the thought of him in that capacity, rather than disappointment that his lips hadn't landed a bit further south of her nose.  
  
Thanks for coming, she scrawled on her well-covered parchment, before letting him take it and set it on her nightstand.  
  
"No problem," he assured her, hoisting his loaded book bag over his shoulder. "'Moine'll come round this afternoon for a bit and Ron's bringing you dinner. See you!"  
  
He smiled and left, leaving Ginny feeling better than she had in all weekend. Sometimes, you just needed a friend. Friends like Harry, who didn't have ulterior motives.  
  
"Well, that was touching," apparently Draco had decided that his target was wide open now that her translator was gone. But he wasn't grinning. He was glaring. Had Ginny not talked to Hermoine earlier, she might have thought he was anger with Harry. But now other ideas occurred to her.  
  
Setting her teeth, she grinned at him. He was jealous! Well, if he didn't stake his claim (as much as Ginny could ever be claimed by anyone, anyway)  
  
"Funny that he's finally paying attention to you, isn't it?" he went on, ignoring her. "You got real lucky, Weasel - " his usual nickname for her was particularly emphasized, as he knew she couldn't tell him not to call her that - "Tell me, did you have to sleep with him?"  
  
Ginny flushed angrily. To suggest that she would sleep with someone just to get their attention was below even his normally nasty standards. Thinking quickly, and knowing she had to respond somehow, she suddenly dove into her nightstand. She pulled out her wand and pointed it over her head.  
  
"Communicadus engorgio!" she mouthed. Then she tapped her wand against her lip, noting with a smirk that Draco was gripping his own, ready to counter any curses she might throw at him.  
  
Looking at her wand, she rested it against her lips and spoke. Sparks flew from the end of her wand and condensed themselves into large words above her head. They read,  
  
"Jealous, Malfoy?"  
  
"You wish, Weasel."  
  
"Don't call me Weasel. You are jealous of Harry. And why shouldn't you be? He's a great guy, after all. Awesome Quidditch player. Good student. People actually like him."  
  
"Oh, yeah, the famous Harry Potter. My hero," Draco snapped.  
  
"You sound like Snape," Ginny actually managed to make the letter flash, neon light style. "Bitter."  
  
"Sod off, Weasely."  
  
"No, I don't think I will."  
  
Suddenly, he was at her side, his face very close to hers.  
  
"I'm warning you," he hissed, his nose brushing hers as he leaned over her. "Don't push me any further or I might - "  
  
"Might what?" Ginny managed to whisper and he was so close that he could have read her lips anyway. "Might actually admit that you like me, so we can bloody stop pussy footing around all the fucking time?" She was getting angry and the pain searing her throat was easy to ignore.  
  
"Oh, that's it, is it?" he smiled nastily down at her. "You were trying to make me jealous? Oh, clever, Weasely. Well thought of. Get this, little girl, I don't fancy you, or whatever you seem to - "  
  
Later, Ginny would never really be able to identify if she had been more angry or in love with him at that moment. When she had snapped, the passion in her mind was a swirling cloud. Her mind went blank as her hands grabbed his face painfully hard and dragged his mouth to hers.  
  
He was clearly taken completely by surprise. His eyes widened as hers closed, and for a moment he remained stiff. Ginny kept her face firmly glued to his, and in less than a second, he was responding in kind.  
  
It was the deepest, most intense feeling Ginny had ever experienced in her life. The instant his mind seemed to have come to terms with the situation, he took the lead, deepening the kiss with his hands planted firmly on either side of her. Her arms traveled to his chest before stretching up to wrap around his neck.  
  
He dropped his chest against hers, arms bending to rest on his elbows, his mouth fiery against her. He tasted vaguely of pineapple, which Ginny faintly recalled thinking of as odd after the whole thing was over.  
  
Time seemed to stop. There was only Draco, his mouth searing hers, demanding all she had to give.  
  
She gave it willingly. She was his.  
  
When, at last, they drew apart, Draco was stretched atop her, his body pressing against hers. She could feel his muscles tense and relax, and shivered.  
  
His breathing was as heavy as hers, and his eyes searched hers. His were stormy with desire, but he was restraining himself.  
  
"Gods, Gin!" his voice was seductively soft with awe. "Don't tell me Potter taught you to kiss like that."  
  
"That bad, huh?" she blushed, her voice barely audible.  
  
"Anyone who can kiss like you just did obviously spends a lot of time practicing," Draco told her. "That kind of kiss should definitely be illegal." But he wasn't smiling.  
  
"What is it?" she asked, knowing her voice was going fast - or what little was left of it. She ran a hand across his cheek, watching his expression.  
  
He was staring down at her with a pained look of uncertainty. Ginny eyed him. She still saw the raw passion reflected in his eyes, but something else had joined it.  
  
Fear.  
  
"It's all right," she tried to assure him, but she could only mouth it. Suddenly, he seemed to snap out of a trance. He slid gracefully off her and got to his feet. She watched him in increasing bewilderment. He stepped back, and the mask of arrogance once again masked his face.  
  
"Cute, Weasel," he said coldly. "Don't try it again."  
  
He turned and left the Wing. Ginny wanted to scream for him to come back, but no sound came from her swollen throat. As the door slammed behind him, Ginny felt her heart rip itself out of her chest and go trotting after him.  
  
She burst into tears.  
  
______________________  
  
Yay! Horrible, icky-poo Draco again. Can't have him turning into a softy, can we? Don't worry, it'll all work out eventually - WHEN I SAY SO! I have the power (can you feel it?). Anyway, keep your eyes open for the next chapter(s).  
  
Loves!  
  
P.S. I really do appreciate your reviews, they've been very helpful. 


	7. Potter the Potty Mouth, or Nice Arm, Pot...

Don't Call Me Weasel! By Jedi Tess of Gryffindor  
  
I just can't quit, although my father lays off telling me to get off the computer now, because he's thoroughly impressed with my writing and the number of reviews I've gotten on this story. *Blinks back tears of gratitude and runs to find mummy* Thanks bundles for your support. And I'm sorry this chapter has no Gin/Draco interaction, but I think all the stuff with Harry'll make it fun anyway. Cheers!  
  
Disclaimer: This word is not in my vocabulary.  
  
_________________________  
  
Draco didn't return to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomphrey was, consequently, in a towering rage at the loss of her patient.  
  
"No proper sense of safety for the children," she muttered incessantly, after Dumbledore refused to force Draco into going back.  
  
Ginny, meanwhile, was in a state of despair. For once, Hermoine had been wrong about something. Draco really didn't like, after all. For the first time since her arrival, Ginny was glad to be sick. She had no desire ever to see Draco again. He had hurt her deliberately, she was sure, and the sense of betrayal at his hands was impossible to bear.  
  
Not being the heroin of some god-awful romance novel, Ginny continued to eat and sleep regularly. But she had changed. She was very quiet, even after regaining the use of her vocal cords. Only Hermoine could get anything out of her of a coherent nature for a long time. Ron tried, got angry, and gave up. Harry had taken to coming and just sitting with her while she cried.  
  
He had been so wonderful about the whole thing. She hadn't told him a whole lot, but he didn't seem to mind. Usually, he came to bring her dinner in the evenings - hospital food got miserable after a while, she had discovered early on. Often, she was so exhausted that she allowed him to spoon-feed her, and his good nature cheered her for brief periods, until heartache clouded her soul.  
  
It was during one such visit two weeks after her admittance into the Hospital Wing that Harry final demanded to know what the matter was.  
  
"It's nothing," Ginny assured him hoarsely. "I just hate being shut up for so long. I haven't been out of this ghastly place since - "  
  
"That's not it, though, is it?" Harry asked seriously. "You're getting better, I can tell. Physically, you should be ready to leave in another week. But, Gin - not to sound melodramatic - it's your spirit I'm worried about. I would think you'd be dancing for joy now that your health is improving and you'll be out of here soon. But you're quiet - and you cry almost every time I've come in. Hermoine says you're a mess when she visits. What's up?"  
  
Ginny eyed him, unsure whether to tell or not. Hermoine had taken the news of her heartache as a sign of fear on Draco's part and insisted he'd come round. But how would Harry react if he knew that Ginny was in love with his nemesis? He seemed to sense her unease.  
  
"Look," he said, leaning forward in his chair and taking her hand. "Whatever it is, I can handle it. I won't be angry or upset or do anything Ron would do, I swear. Just tell me what the matter is."  
  
Ginny sighed. Then it all came tumbling out in a rush. The real story of the past few weeks, from start to finish came pouring from her, tears coming and going with regularity.  
  
"And I haven't seen him since," she ended, staring dismally out of the open window across the Wing. She saw his face and added, "I know it seems really stupid, Harry - "  
  
"No; no it doesn't," he murmured, his eyes fixed on her hand, still clasped in his. "I know exactly how you feel. It's so hard to love someone desperately and have them turn you a blind eye."  
  
She smiled ruefully. He was thinking of Cho Chang, of course. His affection for her had not diminished after the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament three years ago. But she hadn't noticed his affection. She'd moved on from Cedric, of course, but apparently hadn't considered Harry boyfriend or 'special someone' material.  
  
"I imagine this isn't the first time you've felt that way yourself," he commented, his expression turning self-reproachful. "I really was blind in more ways than one, I guess. Sorry bout that." Ginny squeezed his hand.  
  
"And do you honestly think you and I could have worked out, anyway?" she asked gently. "I've always been like your little sister - and, honestly, I like it better that way."  
  
His eyes rose to meet hers, and from that moment on, they were the dearest of friends. Harry didn't speak then. He just pulled her into a tight hug. Ginny smiled over his shoulder, feeling triumphantly relieved. She was truly, completely, and one hundred percent over him and now they had really moved on to something better.  
  
"I can't believe Malfoy's such a prat, though," Harry muttered as they pulled apart and he leaned back in his chair. "I mean, god, the guy's obviously insane about you - "  
  
"What?" Ginny stared. No he bloody wasn't! He hated the sight of her.  
  
"That's right, you don't get out much, do you?" Harry smiled sympathetically. "Well, ever since the day he discharged himself from the Hospital, he's been totally different. Hardly speaks to anyone. Doesn't harass Ron, avoids Hermoine like the plague - guess that's not unusual, but he's actually being nice to her when he does have to hang around her. Weirdest thing happened the other day, too. Neville was coming out of Potions all upset cuz Snape was being a greasy bastard, as usual. Well, Nev's pretty clumsy anyway, but he was a real mess. Ran straight into Malfoy and spilled his stuff all over the dungeon floor." Harry paused, his handsome face clouding in anger.  
  
"And as if Nev weren't embarrassed enough, Snape came out after everyone and started picking on him. You know: 'Can't even walk down a hallway, Longbottom? No wonder you're failing my class,' and, 'Kindly get out of the way, Longbottom, you're mucking up the dungeon floor.' Ron and I were about ready to hex him, when Malfoy stepped forward and quietly started helping him pick up his stuff."  
  
Ginny grinned.  
  
"What did Snape do?" she asked eagerly. So her Draco hadn't been a dream. Spurts of him kept jumping out at unlucky moments. Maybe there was hope . . .  
  
"What could he do?" Harry said, laughing. "His favorite student was helping the kid he bullied. He got really pissed - I imagine he got his boxers in quite a twist - and told the rest of us to clear off. Took ten points from Gryffindor, of course, but we were all too cheerful to care much." Harry frowned. " 'Course, Malfoy told Nev to snuff it after all his books were in his bag, but I suppose it was the thought that counted."  
  
Ginny sighed again, staring down at her bedspread. Why couldn't Draco just accept that he had a streak of generosity in him and recognize how much more endearing that made him to her?  
  
"Sorry for bringing him up, Gin," Harry said quietly. "Thought you'd be amused."  
  
"Oh, I was," Ginny said, and it was half true. Before really thinking about Draco, the story of Snape being stood up by his pet student had made her smile. But now her cursed brain was back on Draco, with a vengeance. Ginny tried to fight the tears in her eyes, but it was a hopeless battle, and she knew it.  
  
She felt Harry wrap his arms around her again. He stayed with her until she drifted off to sleep.  
  
  
  
Draco was still fuming an hour later. What the fuck had he been playing at, helping bloody Longbottom? He still couldn't say. He had tried to tell himself that he'd been doing it to hack off Snape, but he knew that wasn't strictly true. The thought in his mind when he'd bent to help Longbottom had been of a feisty redhead, still stuck in the Hospital Wing, who would have done the same thing in his place - or smiled adoringly if she'd seen him do it.  
  
He was now stalking around the lake. He'd been at it for slightly less than an hour, as the autumnal weather was lovely, clear, and cold. He needed to be numb. The fire of his raging emotions was next to impossible to deal with. Pansy, Greg, Vince, Millicent, and Blaise had all taken to leaving him alone, as he was extremely volatile of late. It had been about a week since his release from the Hospital Wing, and the pressure was mounting. All he could think about was red hair, brown eyes, and her words.  
  
"Might what? Might actually admit that you like me, so we can bloody stop pussy footing around all the fucking time?"  
  
Why, why, why did it have to be him? Why couldn't she have fixated her alluring gaze on Potter?  
  
And speaking of . . .  
  
A figure, very definitely Potter, judging by the fluffy hair and too-big glasses was striding across the grounds toward him. As he drew nearer, Draco saw his face, and had to admit that he was impressed. Potter gave every impression, at the moment, of being a guy you didn't want to mess with if you valued your life.  
  
Draco deliberately turned away. He really hadn't done anything to piss the guy off, for once, and he hoped - fleetingly - that Scar Face wasn't out there to see him.  
  
"Malfoy!" ah, well, nix that idea. Maybe if he just ignored -  
  
"Mal - bloody - foy! Slimy git, I'm talking to you!" There was an attention grabber, if he'd ever heard one.  
  
"Oh, Potter the Potty Mouth," Draco sneered, turning his back to the lake and watching the other's marked approach. "What's up your - "  
  
But his rival didn't allow him to finish the thought. Draco's head snapped back as Potter's fist connected with his jaw.  
  
"What - the - sodding - shit, that hurt, Potter!" Draco bellowed, grabbing his chin. Potter had a mean punch!  
  
"This is your wake up call, Malfoy!" Potter spat. "Either love her or don't, but you can't fucking have it both ways!"  
  
Draco gaped at him. He supposed, in hindsight, that he really ought to have hit Potter back. Just to keep the increasingly surreal situation normal. Aside from it being next to absurd that the Gryff would seek him out, the odds that Draco would let him have the first hit were about a zillion to zero.  
  
"What are you on about?" Draco demanded, still clutching his jaw, which had just painfully rehinged itself.  
  
"You know damn well," Potter snarled. "I know you don't care, but at least don't play dumb."  
  
Draco's expression remained blank.  
  
"Ginny, you prat!" the raven-haired boy sighed angrily, rolling his eyes skyward. "She's falling apart over you."  
  
Draco's face hardened, but he remained stony faced.  
  
"Do something!" Potter finally exploded.  
  
"Like what?" Draco countered icily. "In case you hadn't noticed, I told her to off it."  
  
"Why the hell do you think I'm down here?" Potter demanded coldly. "I don't know if you've seen her lately, but I think even you would feel guilty if you saw the look in her eyes."  
  
Draco felt himself try to glare, but the expression drooped. For the first time in his life, he lowered his eyes from his enemy's.  
  
"What do you expect me to do?" he asked hoarsely, running a hand through his disheveled hair.  
  
"I bloody expect you to tell her the truth!" Potter snapped. "That's not a lot to ask, even from you."  
  
"You want the truth, pretty boy?" Draco snarled, his patience thin. "Here's the truth for you. I - am - a - Malfoy. I'm not sure you understand exactly what that implies; so let me make it simple for you. I avoid love. Period. Why, you ask? First of all, I don't know how anymore. Or maybe I do, because the entire reason I'm avoiding little Weasel is to keep her safe. Don't - " he held up his hand, halting Potter's protests - "tell me she doesn't want protection. She doesn't have any idea what - who - I'm protecting her from. Let's just say that I'm a better judge of what she needs at this point than she is. Just know that I'm giving up as much as she is because, yes, Potter, I do love her!"  
  
Potter eyed him speculatively.  
  
"Thought you said you didn't know how to do that," he said carefully.  
  
"Changed my mind," Draco said shortly.  
  
Suddenly, without warning, Potter's face split into a grin.  
  
"You bastard!" he laughed. "You great, stupid prat!"  
  
"Don't think any benevolent emotions on your behalf'll keep me from knocking you on your ass," Draco hissed dangerously. But Potter ignored him.  
  
"God, and here I thought you were playing her," he laughed.  
  
"Don't see anything terribly amusing about any of this," Draco bit out.  
  
"Don't you?" Potter returned, his voice now quite calm. "Well, here's a little story for you, Draco. As it happens, I have the most evil dark wizard in a century after me. As it happens, there's been an attempt - or more - on my life every year since I started at Hogwarts. Shut up - " he waved off Draco's rude interruption - "and listen, for once. Thanks to me thinking, as Snape would say, that I'm 'above the laws of lower life forms', I have nearly caused the deaths of my two best friends and various loved ones every year since I started school. It's my fault Ron almost got killed by a giant chess set - my fault Hermoine was almost eaten by a giant dog - my fault Ginny found the Chamber of Secrets - my fault Sir . . . my godfather almost got the Dementor's Kiss - my fault Cedric was killed."  
  
He paused, evidently forcing some unpleasant memories back into the past where they belonged. Then he cleared his throat and continued.  
  
"But for whatever reason, these people love or at least respect me," Harry finished, his eyes coming back into focus and meeting Draco's. "I know Cedric did while he was alive. But even if I wanted to, I couldn't stop them from loving me. Or being my friends. Because, however irrational the decision, it's theirs' to make."  
  
Draco stared at him. Amazing. Harry Potter, the wondrous "Boy Who Lived", friend of all - was human. He admitted it and had just given Draco more of his life story than (Draco had a feeling) most of his Gryffindor friends knew. Scathing retorts, witty comebacks - Draco had no desire to offer any.  
  
Harry had definitely made his point.  
  
"Thanks, Harry," Draco's voice was very low, but equally sincere.  
  
"Any time," the boy nodded. "Just take my advice and get a bloody move on."  
  
"Right." Draco watched him turn to go.  
  
"Potter," he called. Harry turned. Draco stared hard at him for a moment, then strode forward and decked him. Harry staggered, grabbing his jaw and swearing colorfully.  
  
"Just keeping things normal," Draco smirked.  
  
"Yeah, god forbid anything should change," Harry retorted, gripping his jaw in his hand. "Nice arm, by the way."  
  
He turned and sauntered across the grass. Draco examined his smarting fist with a grin.  
  
Coming from Potter, that was a compliment.  
  
_______________________________  
  
Well, this WAS going to be the concluding chapter (obviously ending with a good d/g snog), but NO! I've gotten several reviews asking me to drag it out. I live to please. Next chapter should have some bitching Ginny scenes, which many of you might enjoy.  
  
Loves and thanks so much for the heartening reviews! 


	8. No, THIS is your wakeup call, or Release...

Don't Call Me Weasel! By Jedi Tess of Gryffindor  
  
I'd like to apologize in advance for the extreme shortness of this section, but it's an important scene and needs your undivided attention. Ginny doesn't exactly bitch, but she grows up a bit. Enjoy!  
  
Disclaimer: !efil a teg ,egassem siht gnidaer er 'uoy fI (yes, this DOES actually say something!).  
  
____________________________  
  
Ginny's last day in the Hospital Wing started out normally.  
  
Hermoine brought her breakfast, and tidings of great joy.  
  
"For some reason, Dumbledore's suddenly decided we need a ball," she said brightly. However, this generalized news out of the way, her expression drooped a bit. "Problem is, we have to ask someone from another house, if we're going."  
  
"Poor Ron, bet he's furious," Ginny grinned. "Are you going?"  
  
"Of course - I have to, I'm Head Girl," Hermoine retorted. "I actually have it pretty easy. I just have to open the show with a dance with the Head Boy." She smirked. No one was entirely sure how Justin Finch-Fletchley had landed the honor, as his grades were average and he'd never done anything particularly amazing, but no one complained. He was a great guy, and the resident Hufflepuff hottie.  
  
"Oh, what a bummer," Ginny sniggered at her.  
  
"So, you'll come?" Hermoine asked, eyeing Ginny anxiously.  
  
"If someone asks me," the redhead said primly. Provided, of course, that someone wasn't a blonde Slytherin. She had a nasty feeling Hermoine might try to talk him into it. Well, she wasn't going with someone who had to be convinced she was good enough!  
  
In fact, several guys stopped by the Wing that day (none of them Draco, thankfully). Ginny finally decided on Jared Boot, a boy in her year and a Ravenclaw. He was nice, easy-going, and pretty cute.  
  
Harry came later that evening.  
  
"Hermoine told you about the ball, did she?" he teased, reclining in his chair. "Who're you going with?"  
  
"Terry Boot's younger brother," Ginny said, blushing slightly. "You?"  
  
"Padma Patil," he said, coloring faintly himself. "Pavarti kept nagging me. Said Padma really liked me or something."  
  
"Well, you are one of the cutest boys in your year," she pointed out innocently. "How many people asked you before you gave in?"  
  
"Five," he mumbled, his face positively burning now.  
  
"Ooh, getting some action, Potter?" she drawled.  
  
"Speaking of Slytherins," Harry said pointedly. Ginny fell silent. She no longer cried about Draco, but instead resorted to untamable temper tantrums. This never stopped Harry from asking after him.  
  
"Didn't he come to see you today?" Harry pressed, watching her closely.  
  
"No, he didn't," she snapped. "And if you don't mind, I'd rather not discuss him."  
  
Harry was silent for a long moment.  
  
"Anything I can do, Gin?" he asked simply. "Sometimes it helps to talk about it."  
  
"Har-ry," she sighed, trying to glare at him and knowing it was a wasted effort. "I tried that. The bottom line is that he led me along to amuse himself, and then dropped it when I started to show genuine interest. That doesn't exactly make me feel like being all docile and forgiving - know what I mean?"  
  
Harry sighed, glancing at his watch.  
  
"Gotta run," he said, standing. "But, Gin, as your friend - brother, really - take my advice and wait for the bloody wanker to tell you how he really feels. He might surprise you." And before she could comment, or retort, he was gone.  
  
Ginny spent a moment fighting down her irritation that Harry was actually standing up for Draco, and then called for Madam Pomphrey.  
  
"Can you still release me tonight?" she asked hopefully. Harry had sounded as though he was expecting Draco to have showed up today and she did not want to think about what she might say - or do - to him if he came.  
  
"Well, you're no longer contagious," the nurse said. "You should take two more days off school, though, just to be sure you're strong enough to cope with day to day strains. You have been gone for quite some time."  
  
"Thank you!" Ginny gushed, earning a surprised look from the nurse. She clambered out of bed and pulled a pair of jeans and a tee shirt from her nightstand. Hermoine had brought them in view of her coming release. She went into the fully equipped bathroom and took a quick shower. Then she got dressed and braided her hair back.  
  
Feeling very refreshed, she stepped back into the Wing.  
  
And froze.  
  
Draco sat in the chair by her bed, staring morosely through a window at the opposite end of the Wing. His back was to her, and Ginny decided to let him think she'd drowned in the bathroom, rather than face him. She began to turn -  
  
"Don't bother," he said without turning. "I know you're there."  
  
She halted again. She felt a thrill of excitement - of anger - at the sound of his hard voice. Her chest rose and fell in a quick breath.  
  
"I have nothing to say to you," her reply was so quiet she wasn't sure he heard her.  
  
"Well, I have something to say to you." Apparently, he had. He stood up and turned to face her. Ginny bit back a gasp. Draco had changed. His expression wasn't conceited, but rather, hardened by pain. His eyes bore into her and she couldn't look away.  
  
"What?" she whispered, feeling tears fill her eyes. How did he do this to her? What right did he have to do this to her?  
  
He crossed to her, leaving a few feet between them. He must have seen her brimming eyes and trembling lips, because suddenly he cupped her cheek in his hand.  
  
"Please don't cry, Gin," he begged - yes, begged - softly. Had it not been for the building anger she harbored against him, Ginny might have yielded to the painfully gentle touch. But her sense of betrayal, her disgust with his casual dismissal and long absence, made her turn her head deliberately away from his touch.  
  
"Why shouldn't I cry?" she croaked, the first tear spilling over. "I have every reason to."  
  
"Not anymore," Draco offered, dropping his hand and taking another step toward her. "Look - Gin, I didn't mean what I said."  
  
"Oh, you didn't really want me to get the hell away from you." She glared at him through her tears. "Well, for your information, I am not a roadside attraction that you can just use and leave at will. I'm a person, damn it! Get that through your thick scull! Maybe you don't understand how love works, but I do. You're not the only one involved anymore, Draco! I'm the other half. It's really too bad that you can't understand that. I was willing to love you and I was ready to accept that you had a lot to learn, but - " she broke off, with a sob, then continued - "you blew it."  
  
His stare hardened.  
  
"What makes you think I ever loved you, Weasely?" he snarled. Ginny was stung. She didn't think that she had ever hurt so much in her short life.  
  
"Oh, well then, my mistake," she bit out. "Forgive me for not being a pushover. Forgive me for wanting more from you than a few kisses and some pick-up lines."  
  
"I was about to offer you something else," he snapped, taking another step toward her. Ginny held her ground.  
  
"After what you just said, I don't think you really understand what I want!" she retorted. She had never been so furious.  
  
"And what, pray tell, 'don't I understand'?" he hissed, his eyes narrowed.  
  
Ginny felt fresh tears flowing down her cheeks, but she didn't care.  
  
"How much simpler can I make it?" she shouted, fighting back sobs. "God, if you were any duller, I could probably convince you to eat your own hand!"  
  
"What do you want from me?" Draco finally growled, and she could tell, with a horrible sinking feeling in her chest, that he honestly didn't understand. And that made things worse. So much worse.  
  
"All I want, Draco," she whispered, enunciating very carefully, her voice very soft, "is to love and be loved in return. It's so straightforward, why can't you just get it into your brain?"  
  
"Sorry, Weasel. Next time you decide to throw a quiz, make sure to warn me so I can go study," he said sarcastically. Ginny just stared at him in disbelief. So that was it.  
  
"Don't worry, Malfoy," were her icy words. "I won't put you through that kind of emotional trauma again. I'm sorry for bothering you."  
  
Virginia Weasely, newly proclaimed woman, turned and strode proudly from the Hospital Wing, her heart all but shattered.  
  
Not two feet from the place where she had just been, a young man watched as the consequences of a prideful heart disappeared out of the Hospital Wing.  
  
_________________________  
  
Well, I know it's short, but I wanted to get the confrontation out of the way. It didn't live up to my expectations, but I hope you're decently satisfied. Please hang in there, the conclusion'll come in the next couple of chapters or so. 


	9. SplishSplash, or Don't Call Me Weasel!

Don't Call Me Weasel! By Jedi Tess of Gryffindor  
  
At last, the end is upon us! Sorry for the wait, guys! This week has been crazy. I just started college and simultaneously turned 17. It's been a zoo! In any case, I also didn't want to rush the conclusion. Even now, I'm not sure about it. There'll be an epilogue, too, just for shits and giggles (to quote Mr. Malfoy).  
  
Disclaimer: I love you, you love me. We're a happy family! Right . . .  
  
AND FINALLY . . . THE CONCLUSION!!!!!!  
  
_______________________  
  
The next week was torture. Draco moved about in a kind of horrified stupor, oblivious to almost everything that was happening around him. He forgot to harass the Dream Team, forgot to turn in homework, forgot to eat. He often couldn't remember how to sleep and lay awake for hours, staring at the green and silver canopy above his bed. He had been replaying the nightmare scenario in the Hospital Wing over and over in his head, and every time Ginny's disgusted face materialized, he felt a terrible wrench in his chest such as he'd never experienced in his life.  
  
Perhaps the worst of it was the redhead herself. He might have thought she were perfectly happy, had he not been witness to several events that left him simultaneously burning with anger and guilt. She had not taken to skipping meals, sulking around, or crying openly to her friends. She had, in all appearances, an added blithe and brilliancy. She smiled, laughed, and chattered with her friends, as usual.  
  
But very unluckily, he's chanced to be wandering the castle aimlessly while everyone else was in Hogsmeade, and come across her in the empty charms classroom, crying as if her heart was broken. He hadn't entered the room, had kept out of sight. But he had watched her for almost ten minutes, as she sobbed, paced the room, and ranted infuriately. It was a particularly angry outburst that had been plaguing him ever since.  
  
"Damn it, it's not like I meant for this to happen, Draco!" she had shouted at the teacher's desk. "If I could possibly not love you, I bloody wouldn't!" A few minutes later, after an especially painful bout of sobbing, she had added very miserably, "But the least you could do is give me a good reason to love you. Show me something decent. I know it's there. I saw it, you bastard!" And away she went into tears. Draco had had to leave the castle entirely before he'd settled down enough to face another human being with beating the life out of them.  
  
I'm not decent, he kept telling himself. I'm not!"  
  
But as he lay awake hour after hour, he began to wonder if this weren't something to be reconsidered. After all, hadn't he practically begged her to stay with him the first night he was sick. Hadn't he (desperately) wanted her to stay with him the morning he'd awoken with her asleep on his chest? Hadn't he admitted to taking bloody Muggle voice lessons, and then sung to her while she'd fallen asleep? Hadn't he stayed there with her all day, wanting more than anything to make the pain go away?  
  
Shit, I'm going soft, Draco thought in horror. I might as well off myself and save Lucius the trouble.  
  
But the more he watched her over every meal, the more he thought of her, the more he realized that he had come to depend on having her somewhere near him every moment of every day. Those few days in the Hospital Wing had been all it took for her to unconsciously pull herself into his heart and cling there with frightening strength.  
  
Granger, surprisingly, appeared to honestly care about his preoccupation.  
  
"Look," she said patiently as they strolled around the lake (the fact that he had agreed to accompany her was a testament to the severity of his mental state). "The only way you'll get to Ginny is by proving to her that you love her."  
  
"I told her I didn't," Draco said dully, kicking a stone from the path into the lake.  
  
"First of all, I believe you told me that your exact words were, 'What makes you think I ever loved you?' At no time did you say you didn't love her. From what I can tell, you made the whole offer of your affection sound like a trade negotiation."  
  
"I'm just tickled by the vote of confidence, Granger," he snapped. "Anyway, it's hopeless. She told me I'd blown it."  
  
"You idiot!" the Head Girl sighed. "That was a challenge. Her hope, whether she consciously knew it or not, was that your feelings would be strong enough that you would want her to be clear on what they were. And you went exactly in the wrong direction."  
  
"Either give me some useful advice, or shut up," Draco growled. Perhaps she was trying to piss him off, or perhaps not. But she was certainly getting under his skin, and he was in a particularly volatile mood.  
  
She sighed again.  
  
"My advice is that you tell her," Granger said shortly, stopping to stare absentmindedly across the blue-black water of the lake.  
  
"Tell her what?" Draco asked dismally.  
  
"Here, I'll break it down," Granger retorted, looking thoroughly exasperated. "You see her. You stop her. You say, 'Ginny, I love you.' Wait, let me finish. When she says, 'Save it, you already told me to off it,' you say - well, I don't know, but really fight her on it, Draco. You can't get defensive because she's hurt. It's your fault."  
  
He tried to object, realized she was perfectly right, and glowered at her. She continued.  
  
"You're a very persuasive person, you know," she said, smiling faintly. "You really could convince her you're mad about her if you butted your determination against hers." She shrugged. "Anyway, I've gotta run. There's this dance, see," was she smirking at him?, "and it's tonight, you know. I've got to go get ready."  
  
She started to walk away, then turned.  
  
"And you'd better be looking good yourself, if you're going to sweep her off her feet," she called mischieviously, before turning and sprinting across the grass.  
  
Draco raked a hand through his hair. Was her affection worth humiliating himself in front of Virginia Weasely?  
  
Ah, who was he kidding?  
  
  
  
Ginny stared at herself in the full-length mirror; delighted with the young woman she saw staring back at her. Her long hair had been pulled into a ponytail atop her head, left to fall in soft waves around her face and neck. Her dress robes weren't tight, but accentuated her body nicely. They were forest green, contrasting well with her auburn hair. They fastened in front with small gold clasps shaped like tiny maple leaves and neck was a modest scoop, revealing her shoulders, though dipping no lower than her collar bones. As Ginny gave a little spin, she felt happier than she had since before she'd been in the Hospital.  
  
Now, as long as a blonde Slytherin didn't come round during the dance, she would probably have the night of her life. At least, she intended to.  
  
"Oh, Gin, that's so gorgeous," Hermoine sighed, coming to stand just behind Ginny and resting her hands on the younger girl's shoulders. "You're gonna knock 'em dead."  
  
"You're not too shabby, yourself," Ginny said admiringly, turning to survey Hermoine's doll-like appearance in girlish appreciation.  
  
"Hope Ron isn't too upset," Hermoine admitted, smoothing the folds of her lavender robes with a self-conscious smile.  
  
"Just expect loads of jealously and a possible death warrant on Justin," Ginny giggled.  
  
"Right," Hermoine eyed her, as though wanting to say something, but Ginny jumped into the gap quickly.  
  
"Shall we go down, then? I told Jared I'd meet him at 6:30. I've got five minutes."  
  
The girls hurried down, Hermoine giving her infuriated boyfriend a long kiss before dashing off after Ginny through the portrait hole.  
  
"Stupid prat," the Head Girl muttered. "Told me I should have gone in his old dress robes so no one would notice me."  
  
They reached the Entrance Hall to find it already crowded with students. The sixth and seventh years were chatting unconcernedly with each other, while the younger students looked for their respective partners nervously.  
  
"Who's Ron going with?" Ginny asked curiously.  
  
Hermoine giggled furiously for a moment.  
  
"Stupid boy waited too long to ask someone again, so he wound up having to get Harry to ask Blaise Zabini for him," the seventh year sniggered. "Of course, every girl in the school (present company excluded) has been mad about Ron since sixth year, so it wasn't really a problem. Blaise was only too happy once she found out who Dra - Malfoy was going with." Hermoine blushed.  
  
"Who?" Ginny asked before she could stop herself.  
  
"Er - Jules McKinnon," Hermoine murmured quickly.  
  
"Figures," Ginny bit out. Jules was Hermoine's only real rival for popularity with Hogwarts males. She had been a close friend of Cho Chang's and had been with her in Ravenclaw.  
  
"Oh, look, there's Jared," Hermoine hurried on, pointing. Ginny's glower became a smile at the sight of her extremely dashing date hastening toward her through the crowd.  
  
"Gin, you look fantastic!" he said without preamble. She blushed, but didn't feel quite as satisfied as she ought to at the compliment.  
  
She and Jared got on quite comfortably, talking and laughing until the Great Hall was open. While Ginny was enjoying herself, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. Jared was polite, easy-going, and excellent conversationalist, but -  
  
He's not Draco, a little voice in the back of her head whispered, sounding annoyingly like Hermoine. She shook herself. She would not ruin her first potentially good evening in quite a long time for him.  
  
She smiled almost grimly as the doors of the Hall swung aside to admit the eager crowd. Ginny gazed determinately at the back of Harry's head - he was walking in front of them with Padma Patil and looking adorably embarrassed.  
  
"You'll knock 'em dead, Harry," Ginny whispered over his shoulder, and he gave her a nervous smile in return.  
  
"Talk to bloody Malfoy," he murmured back before being pulled off into the crowd by this enthusiastic partner.  
  
"Damn you, Potter," she hissed under her breath.  
  
"What was that?" Jared bent down to hear her.  
  
"Nothing," she assured him. "Shall we dance?"  
  
Dance they did, and very well, for Jared actually could waltz. Her first dance partner ever having been Neville Longbottom, Jared's skill was greatly appreciated. They danced several songs before finding chairs with Hermoine and Justin. Both were flushed and looking a bit winded, but they smiled as the younger students joined them.  
  
"Nice show, Boot," Justin smiled. "Where'd you learn to dance?"  
  
"My mum," he mumbled, blushing a bit. "She used to dance with me when I was five. She'd waltz and tango around with me in the kitchen."  
  
"That's so sweet," Hermoine said, looking delighted. "You two look so good together!"  
  
That about killed Ginny's good mood. Ironically, she'd rather been hoping that Hermoine would make a comment like that, rather than anything in any way connected with Draco, but now that it was out there she felt a severe pang of disappointment.  
  
Most unfortunately, she chose that moment to look up. The blonde stood with his partner on the edge of the floor. His glare was squarely centered on Ginny. She felt a dreadful pang of regret in her stomach, but then pride came to the rescue.  
  
She gave him a look, which managed to convey that any jealousy or anger he might be experiencing was all his own fault, and he should therefore stop looking at her. To impress this point more firmly, she turned deliberately back to Jared.  
  
"Another dance, fair maiden?" he asked with a roughish bow.  
  
"Er - okay," she said slowly. "Um - would you mind if I got a breath of fresh air after that. You know, before they serve dinner?"  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"Of course not," he smiled warmly and led her away for a slow dance. She didn't much feel like swaying gently to the soft wind music wrapped in Jared's arms, but she also felt Draco's glare on her and this compromising position was bound to hack him off.  
  
Good, she thought.  
  
The dance ended (as dances tend to do) and Ginny left the floor gratefully. Glancing around, she caught sight of Draco beginning a dance with Jules. Partially jealous of the fabulously beautiful Ravenclaw, and partially relieved that Draco wouldn't see where she was leaving to, she slipped away, promising Jared she'd be back shortly.  
  
Bit of a lie, that, as she intended to spend the rest of the night by herself.  
  
With a final glance in Draco's direction as a reassurance of his preoccupation, Ginny slid through the doors into the Entrance Hall and ran quickly to the doors that led onto the grounds.  
  
Once down the front steps, she ran. Not exactly to escape, but just to feel alive, just because the breeze in her hair and the cool night air made her feel sure that everything would be alright. She rushed as fast as she could across the grounds, beyond Hagrid's cabin, and into a wide path that skirted the Forbidden Forest. She knew it was stupid to go traipsing about at night, outside and alone, but she needed to feel free. She needed very desperately to get away from Jared.  
  
And Draco.  
  
She made it down the path unharmed, and came at last to her destination.  
  
As it wasn't within the Forest, she assumed in was safe. Ginny had discovered her little cove several years ago. Oddly enough, it was a small, white sand beach, with iridescent aqua water splashing in gentle waves on the shore. It was connected with the lake, Ginny was sure, and yet the view out of the cove mouth was of a distant horizon at of sunrise.  
  
She knew it must have been enchanted, as the water was likewise tropically warm, but it never ceased to amaze her. As far as she knew no one else knew about her little haven. Wouldn't it be just her luck if someone found it tonight?  
  
She sighed, not really wanting the think about it. She knew who she wished would come hurrying along the path, but also knew that the odds were strongly against it. Not only did the Slytherin not have any idea where this place was, but she had also told him to stuff it.  
  
"What was I thinking?" she muttered, slumping into the sand and putting her head in her hands. Who was she bloody kidding? She felt the unwilling tears that had fallen so many days in deserted corridors, classrooms, and in this haven of hers well up. She refused to let them fall. She had come here to unwind, and preferably forget everything, and that was what she intended to do!  
  
Stripping off her beautiful robes so that she wore nothing more than her bathing suit (she had been planning to make a getaway), she draped her lovely garments over a rock that jutted out of the sand and stepped gingerly into the water.  
  
As usual, it was warm and lovely, and soon she was swimming happily up and down the length of the enchanted cove. She floated on her back, did handstands, swan laps. The water never got more than six feet deep, so diving wasn't much of an option, but who needed that when one had one's own tropical paradise?  
  
Finally, feeling much revived, Ginny came out of the water and stretched out on the beach, her feet still within range of the quietly lapping waves. She closed her eyes, listening to the unnatural tropical beach sounds that came from nowhere (at least, she didn't see any toucans or phoenixes or Hawaiian bands).  
  
"Oh, just my sodding luck! Get your own beach, Weasel," a voice snapped, causing her to jump a foot in the air. Covered in sand, she spun around, still seated, to face Draco Malfoy.  
  
"Don't call me Weasel," the response was purely impulsive. "And this isn't your beach, Malfoy. Last I checked it was on school property." This was odd. When they were fighting, it was though they were back to where they had been before she had gotten sick. But this time, she had no intention of backing down.  
  
"I've been coming here since first year," he said coldly. "It's mine. Get out."  
  
"Um, how 'bout no?" she suggested sweetly, pushing her bedraggled hair from her eyes. "How 'bout you take your 'let's bitch at Ginny' problem and stuff it up your - "  
  
"Dammit, Weasely!" he spat, glaring at her. "Can't you just leave me alone?"  
  
"Excuse me?" she stared at him. "Get it right, Mal-ferret. I was here first."  
  
She thought she heard him mutter, "That's not what I meant," but maybe she was hearing things. She continued.  
  
"Look, stay or go, I don't care, but kindly don't bother me," and she splashed back into the water, swimming lazily away, as if to show him she was out of his reach. In truth, she was really trying to gather her scattered thoughts. What were the odds of him being the only other person at Hogwarts to know about this place? She had to be dreaming. She felt her stomach knot and her brain begin its usual spastic jump from anger to love to desire to infuriation.  
  
Then a wicked thought struck her and she turned back. Draco stood, looking very out of place in the tropical climate, with his long navy-blue dress robes. He might look a bit more in place if . . .  
  
"Alright, alright, I'll go. Just stop glaring at me," she sighed, feigning defeat and swimming back toward him. When she judged herself to be close enough, she stood and kicked her foot into the water. The great wave hit Draco, drenching his head and right arm.  
  
"What the fuck?" he sputtered, shaking water from his hair and robes and glowering at her. "These are worth more than your entire house, Weasely!"  
  
"Oh, well, I'm sure they'll be easily replaceable, then," she smirked, and as it hadn't occurred to him to back up yet, she splashed him again.  
  
"Oh, bring it on," he suddenly snapped, pulling off his robes and tossing them aside. Ginny gaped. He was wearing his flannel pajama bottoms - the ones he'd worn in the Hospital Wing. He was, as usual, shirtless.  
  
He didn't hesitate to plunge in after her and give her a rough shove. She tumbled into the foamy water and resurfaced a moment later, gurgling.  
  
"You'll pay for that, Malfoy," she hissed dangerously, grabbing his arm and dragging him down. With a shout of surprise, he submerged and Ginny paddled away as fast as she could, giggling uncontrollably. He re-emerge totally drenched a moment later, sputtering. Ginny couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. She forgot she was angry and hurt. All she knew was that Draco Malfoy was looking at her like a half-drowned (though unusually attractive) puppy.  
  
"Think that's funny, Weasel?" he demanded, trying in vain to shake water from his eyes. He was advancing on her again, but she was almost paralyzed with laughter.  
  
"Don't - call - " but she was cut off as he grabbed her roughly in his arms and covered her mouth with his.  
  
She was so surprised that for a moment, she didn't react. Then she felt the familiar twisting in the pit of her stomach and the familiar fire burning her lips. Slowly, her hands rose to rest on his slick chest, where they slid up to his shoulders and finally clasped around his neck, tangling in his wet hair. He groaned slightly and pulled her closer, his tongue tickling her lips. Her mouth open, and passion poured in. Her mind was blank, her entire being aware of one thing: Draco.  
  
His fingers ran up and down her back, running around the seams of her swimsuit and occasionally slipping just inside. She gasped into his mouth and he managed - somehow - to pull her closer, his entire body pressed against hers. Without knowing what she was doing, Ginny felt her legs circling his waist, just as his mouth moved from her lips to her jaw line.  
  
"Oh, god," she whispered, parts of her brain yelling at other parts of her brain in a confusing mess. She had never felt this amazing - this passionate in her life. She wanted to hold Draco forever. She couldn't have let go if she'd wanted to. Her right hand rose from his neck to cradle the back of his head, allowing her neck to curve closer to his mouth.  
  
"What the hell have you done to me?" he demanded against her skin, causing her to shiver.  
  
"I told - I told you to go away," she whispered, closing her eyes in pleasure.  
  
"Do you still want me to?" his lips left her neck and Ginny opened her eyes. He was staring up at her through hooded lids, gray orbs stormy with unmistakable desire. She looked back, not wanting to let him go, but needing a few things cleared up.  
  
"You hurt me," she murmured, caressing his hair.  
  
"I know," she could barely hear the mumbled response. His eyes lowered from hers. It was the first time she could remember him looking away from her. Finally he spoke, his voice as cold as ever, but with an entirely knew accent: that of sincerity.  
  
"Look - Gin," he began still staring fixedly at the frozen sunrise over her shoulder. "I can't change who I am. I am a Malfoy. I am harsh. I am mean. I'm human."  
  
"I'm not asking you to change," she said, reaching out to turn his face gently upward toward hers. "Like I told you before, I'm asking you to love me."  
  
"I don't know how," he told her bluntly, his eyes darkening. "It's not as if I've ever been loved before."  
  
"Yes, you have," she said, leaning down to kiss him again, though more gently than before.  
  
"You'll have to be patient," he warned. "I'm not used to having someone actually care about me. Nice people make me cross, even if I'm mad about them."  
  
She couldn't help giggling.  
  
"I wouldn't want you any other way," she assured him. "I love you just the way you are."  
  
He stared at her in as near to awe as Draco Malfoy ever got - which was to say an eyebrow rose almost to his hairline and his mouth hung a bit slack.  
  
"Alright," he said at last, his face slowly transforming into a handsome, sneer-free smile. "Alright. We'll try it your way, Weasel." He bent his head, his lips pressing hard against hers. As of yet unbeknownst to him (but knownst to Ginny, because she was astute like that) the passion and feeling in his lips, his tongue, and his steely eyes told of a deep and ever-growing affection for his little redhead. Ginny didn't need to hear the words right away. She just needed to be with him, wrapped in his arms, his over protectiveness, his smirk.  
  
They finally pulled apart again, foreheads resting against one another as the two teens tried desperately to catch their breaths. Finally, Ginny spoke, her eyes shining.  
  
"Don't call me Weasel!"  
  
_______________________________  
  
Well, folks, that's a wrap! Hope it's an okay ending. An epilogue is immanent; I'm feeling especially good about my newly received WASL scores. Anywho, I also can't leave this story without forcing our sly Slytherin to say three special words . . . ^_^ Thanks so much for your support!  
  
Loves! 


	10. Epilogue: This Is All Your Fault, or I L...

"Draco Malfoy, this is all your fault!"  
  
And we're back to square one, Draco thought dryly, massaging his smarting fingers.  
  
" I 'm not even going to respond to that," he informed his incensed wife. "More ice?"  
  
" Now! " she snapped, snatching the glass from his hand. Her tiny frame relaxed a bit, and the medi-witch checked the small clock over the bed.  
  
"You're getting close, Gin," Lavender Brown assured her patient/former schoolmate/friend. Draco glanced at the clock as well. Its hands pointed to such notices as, "Ooh, you're in for a wait ", "okay, another one - hold tight! ", and Draco's personal favorite, "Great Scott, look at that kid go!" which, as Lavender had explained to him, meant the kid in question was approximately half way down the birth canal.  
  
Right now the damned clock hand was pointing at "so close, sooooo close!" which annoyed him exceedingly. What the hell did that mean? Presumably, it meant that Ginny was dilated and almost ready to go, but it had been stuck there for bloody ten minutes!  
  
The young woman in question didn't seem too thrilled either.  
  
"Any time now!" she snapped at her bulging midsection. "Ooooh." Her hand tightened around Draco's for the umpteenth time, her face screwed up in pain, and her eyes began watering.  
  
"Go on, love, it's all right," he murmured in her ear, his free (and unbroken) hand rubbing her back.  
  
"Don't tell me it's all right," she hissed fiercely. "Nothing about this situation is 'all right'."  
  
"Come on, Gin, you're giving birth," Lavender chided from the end of the bed, her eyes on her wristwatch and her free hand on Ginny's belly. "What's more 'all right' than bearing life?"  
  
"Letting someone else do it!" Ginny snarled, her vocal volume rising alarmingly. Finally her hand relaxed and Draco made a vain attempt to flex his fingers. Ginny leaned back heavily against her pillows, gasping for air and probably cursing that last contraction from there to next week. Lavender drew her wand and pointed it at Ginny's belly.  
  
"Clerio!" she said, and Ginny's stomach became foggy, vaguely transparent. Lavender regarded it for a long moment.  
  
"Right, I'll be back, Gin," she said with a reassuring smile. "Draco, gimme buzz when the next contraction comes. She'll be fully dilated by then." Lavender hurried out, still grinning.  
  
"Well," Draco said, trying to lighten the mood as he watched the light fade from the sphere of Ginny's tummy. "She was always good at crystal gazing, wasn't she?"  
  
Ginny actually laughed at him.  
  
"Oh, Draco," she sighed. "I'm so glad you're with me."  
  
"Wouldn't be anywhere else," he assured her, leaning down to give his beloved a long kiss. As she almost always did, the instant his tongue parted her lips, she sighed gently into his mouth. It was Ginny's kiss. He would have no one else's.  
  
The moment was broken by Ginny roughly pushing him away and leaning forward.  
  
"Merlin, I'm going to die!" she cried, her eyes tearing. Draco hurried to the door, poked his head out, and, now in a panic, hollered at the top of his lunges.  
  
"Lav!" he bellowed, and the petite brunette look up from where she had been speaking with the Weasely clan, who were seated in the waiting room at the end of the hall. "We could use a hand down here!"  
  
Lavender was already coming toward him.  
  
Draco rushed back to his wife, who was now crying hysterically.  
  
"Hold me, Draco," she gasped, and he wrapped his arms tightly about her, his cheek against hers, facing Lavender at the end of the bed. A brief glance at the birthing clock told him things were getting grim. It read, "Aaaaaand, it's off! Off and bloody running!"  
  
"Right, Gin, start pushing," Lavender instructed calmly, her eyes meeting Ginny's over the tops of the redhead's knees. "And push! Good!"  
  
It was long, and slow. Or at least it felt that way. Draco kept his arms around his wife's shoulders, murmuring into her ear. In a way, he was terrified for her. Her pain was very real, and showed her in a rare spot of weakness. Weakness had always scared Draco.  
  
But she was, as she had always been, resilient. She pushed, she cursed, she pushed, she cried - and finally, after ten hours of contractions, of broken fingers, of "I love you" s, their son was born.  
  
" Oh, Hayden," Ginny whispered tenderly to the bundle of blankets in her arms. Slitted gray eyes met brown ones and Ginny smiled adoringly. Draco, seated just behind her with his chin on her shoulder and his arms and chest supporting her exhaustedly reclining figure, reached out a pinky and his son - his son! - clamped a small fist around it. Hayden gurgled, hiccupped, and began to wail. Draco couldn't help but be relieved. The boy had been born completely silent. Lavender had had to listen for the breathing, even after manually beginning the respiration, because he hadn't made a sound.  
  
" Oh, settle down, runt," Draco murmured. "You owe your mum one for this."  
  
Ginny smiled at him, turning her head sideway to kiss his cheek.  
  
"He 's your fault, you know," she said softly, turning her loving gaze back to the still-wailing child.  
  
" Well, if you want to look at it that way," Draco returned. "The fact that we're the bloody lucky parents of the most beautiful baby in the entire world is only partially my fault. Didn't your mum tell you how babies were made? "  
  
"You asked me that a long time ago, remember? " she smiled at the memory.  
  
Oh, did your mummy tell you about the birds and the bees, you big girl you?  
  
Draco remembered the words as well, and laughed.  
  
" I was a bit of an ass, wasn't I? " he smirked, getting to his feet and taking his son in the crook of his arm.  
  
"A bit? " she jibed. She saw the look of hurt on his face and amended reluctantly, "Well, I guess I wasn't exactly a bundle of sweet peas, either."  
  
"You 're a thing of beauty and a joy forever," he drawled, leaning in for a final kiss. "Get some rest, sweetheart. The public's waiting. Your Dad looked like he was about to faint out there."  
  
Ginny giggled.  
  
" Tuck me in," she ordered, sliding down carefully under the sheet. Tucking Hayden, who was less than the length of his forearm, securely against him - "make sure he can breathe, Draco! " Ginny said anxiously - he pulled the linen up under her chin and kissed her forehead.  
  
"Hang tight, Weasel. I'll be right back."  
  
He slipped through the door after assuring himself that Ginny was making an effort to sleep, and went to greet her family, who all came tearing down the corridor to meet him.  
  
"Quiet! " he snapped, as all six Weasely brothers and Harry came stampeding up to him. "Little bugger's just dropped off." Hayden was indeed fast asleep and drooling on Draco's arm.  
  
" Malfoy, that's our nephew you're talking about, " Ron warned, peering over the edge of the blankets. "How's Gin? "  
  
" Never lovelier, " Draco smirked.  
  
"Blimey, mate, he looks just like you," Charlie grinned, running a finger across the sleeping infant 's cheek. Hayden cooed, and opened his eyes.  
  
"Think he likes you, " Draco grinned at Ginny favorite brother, as Charlie's head was replaced by Bill 's. Hayden tiny flailing arm reached out toward the ever-present fang earring.  
  
"Bloke's got a sense of fashion already," the tallest Weasely said. "Can I hold him?"  
  
For a fleeting instant, Draco hesitated. This guy did know he was asking to be allowed to handle the most precious and wonderful creature in the entire bloody universe, right?  
  
"Oh, go on, then," he muttered in embarrassment, holding tiny creature out to Bill, who took his nephew gently into his arms.  
  
"He doesn't look anything like Gin," Harry commented, poking his head around Bill 's arm. "Can I be godfather, Malfoy?"  
  
Draco stared.  
  
" What? "  
  
Harry grinned challengingly.  
  
"Go on, then," he said, eyebrows raised. "Call it a final peace treaty."  
  
"My son's not a bloody peace treaty, Potter," Draco snapped, glaring.  
  
"Think about it," Harry insisted.  
  
"Why should you get to be godfather? " Fred had reached out to take Hayden from Bill. Hayden, far from being terrified, seemed to enjoy the attention. He gurgled happily and reached blindly for Fred 's nose.  
  
"Yeah, you're not even related," George put in.  
  
" Neither of you's getting the job, that 's for sure," Draco broke in. "Don't trust you farther than I can throw you."  
  
Both twins tried to look hurt - and failed.  
  
"Anyway, Fred, you've already got a godson," Harry said, looking triumphant. "Every kid George ever has, if I recall."  
  
"Touché, " Fred grinned easily.  
  
" Ooh, where's my grandson? " Mrs. Weasely had finally managed to push her way through the crowd of boys. She stood on tiptoe to peer over Fred's shoulder. Then she looked up tearily at Draco.  
  
" Oh, he's so lovely, dear! " she sighed. "Let me see him, Fred."  
  
It took quite a lot longer than Draco had expected, and he finally had to forcibly remove himself and his son from the fray.  
  
"Ginny'll want to see you in a bit," he called, as he hurried away with his now-yawning son.  
  
Ginny was sitting up in bed, with Lavender doing a routine post-labor check- up. Both looked up at he came in.  
  
" Sorry, love," Draco crossed the room and placed the baby in her arms. "Family's a bit on the overbearing side."  
  
" You 'll get used to it," she grinned. "Look, hun, why don't you go get something to eat? You haven't had anything since we got here. Maybe you can bring me something - I 'm starved."  
  
" So 's he," Draco pointed out. Hayden was beginning to whimper and now had a bundle of Ginny's hospital gown clamped in his hand.  
  
" I 'll take you down," Lavender offered, scrawling a final note of her clipboard. "Go ahead and feed Hayden again, Gin. He'll need it every couple of hours or so. Anyway, you look great. You'll be ready for release tomorrow."  
  
"Thanks, Lav," Ginny's smile was radiant. She gave her friend a quick hug.  
  
"Go, Draco," she ordered, caressing his cheek. "We'll be fine."  
  
"Alright," he said, feeling some reluctance. But Ginny was fine. She always was. He bent his head down to rest his forehead against hers.  
  
"Love you, Weasel."  
  
"Love you, Mal-ferret."  
  
  
  
After her husband had gone, Ginny turned back to her son. Fascination and joy seemed to settle like honey in her stomach. This little being had been her creation. Hers and Draco's. He was theirs to protect, to nurture, to teach. She had never felt more accomplished or contented in her life.  
  
Hayden's gray eyes stared up into Ginny's and he gurgled impatiently. She laughed. He laughed. It was lovely.  
  
"All right, precious," she smiled, unbuttoning her gown. "You're hungry. What else do I exist for, but to feed you, right? " And he was indeed quite ravenous. Ginny stared down at him, feeling the inexplicable need to talk to her son (like he could understand her or something).  
  
" Now, Hayden," she began. "There are a few things we need to go over. You get freebees now, but pretty soon your going to have to learn the magic words." Having finally had his fill, Hayden relaxed his hold on her and leaned back to stare up at her.  
  
Was that? No, it couldn't be - was he smirking?  
  
"Don't go acting like your dad already! " she cried, positively delighted. "Cuz if you do, I'll have something to say about it." She paused, and then giggled. "And remember, my name is Mum. Whatever Dad might tell you, call me Mum.  
  
"Don't call me Weasel!"  
  
_______________________  
  
There ya go! That's it. This, my friends, is REALLY the end! Yay for Tessy for finishing the story! I'm rather proud of myself. Not sure what I'll do next, but right now I'm in the midst of a story about the Dream Team's and Ginny and Draco's kids. Not sure about it, but I'll give it a go, anyway. Don't worry; I haven't forgotten "Sometimes, I Even Amaze Myself ". I like the idea, and I intend to keep it going!  
  
Thanks so much for the support, and helpful hints. They can only make me a better author.  
  
Loves! 


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